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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26682139">Come Back For Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphicthoughts/pseuds/orphicthoughts'>orphicthoughts</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Dissociation, Domestic Violence, Eating Disorders, F/M, Family Bonding, Feels, Fluff and Angst, I haven't really deciding how descriptive to get about torture and sexy scenes so, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Light BDSM, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mind Games, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Raven Neil (at first), Recovery, Sassy Neil, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Trauma, Triggers, badassery, basically everyone is healing, kind of, officially adding the slow burn tag, they're working towards good things, this sounds really dark wow, violent and crass language</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:15:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>88,579</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26682139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphicthoughts/pseuds/orphicthoughts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Everyone at the Nest had their toxic distraction. Kevin’s was alcohol. Jean’s was the pills. Riko—well, I think Riko just got off by beating everyone.”</p><p>Andrew hums and exhales. The smoke curls around the two of them. “What’s yours?” </p><p>Nathaniel blinks. “My what?”</p><p>“Your toxic distraction.”</p><p>A wicked grin cuts across Nathaniel’s face. He doesn’t try to hide it. He wants Andrew to see. “Now or then?”</p><p>Andrew raises an eyebrow, but that is the only noticeable change in his expression. “Can’t be an addict if you’re inconsistent.”</p><p>“Not an addict. A junkie.”</p><p>*****</p><p>Nathaniel Wesninski was dragged back. Left with a pile of debt to pay off if he wants to live, Nathaniel has no choice but to embrace the life he tried to run from, including the implications that come with it—which he soon learns are far greater than he imagined.</p><p>When something goes wrong amongst the Moriyamas, Nathaniel finds himself in Palmetto with an order to bring Kevin Day back to the Nest. Too bad he’s never been much of a rule-follower.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>366</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>654</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. End of the Road</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stefan doesn’t know how they knew. He and Meredith just landed, hugging their carry-ons close to their bodies. It’s when they pass baggage claim that they notice the tall dark man standing close to the doors leading out to the pick-up area, calm and calculating gaze serving the crowd. Meredith pinches the skin beneath Stefan’s armpit, ignoring his hiss, and drags him over to a different set of doors. Another man, this one sitting on a bench and flipping through a newspaper. But Meredith sees through the façade. She pulls Stefan towards the women’s bathroom, not seeming to care when her nails dig into the fresh wounds on his back. </p><p>	“Mom,” he exhales, stumbling along with her, trying to regain his footing. He went through another growth spurt while they were in Holland and the shoes he’s wearing are a size too small. </p><p>	“Quiet,” she hisses back, nails digging deeper. Her dyed blonde hair hangs heavily in front of her green eyes—fake, of course—as she surveys the area around them before shoving Stefan into the women’s bathroom. Meredith checks under each stall, keeping a vice grip on Stefan while doing so. </p><p>	His side aches from her rough handling. He’s unsure if he’s bleeding through his bandages again. He hopes not. They are running low on supplies and didn’t have enough left to patch him up here. Although, he supposed the wounds were the least of his worries. Stefan had seen those men, too. He knew there was only one person who would’ve sent them, only one person to make his mother act like this. His father. </p><p>	His grip on his own bag tightened as Meredith pushes him into the last stall. “You stay here,” she orders, voice hushed and tight. “You don’t come out until I come and get you. If I don’t come back in 15 minutes, you know what to do.”</p><p>	“Mom—,” he tries again, but she twists the skin under his arm, causing him to flinch back and hit his head on the bathroom wall. </p><p>	“What did I say?” She spits. She crouches down to dig through her own bag, pulling out two items and stuffing them into the waistband on her pants before Stefan can see what they were. He saw the glint of light on one of the objects, though, and presses himself tighter against the wall. Meredith looks back up before backing out of the stall. “Fifteen minutes,” she reminds him. </p><p>	Stefan waits until the sound of Meredith’s sneakers fades from the bathroom before exhaling. His father had found them. How? They were careful. They’d told no one they were coming back to the country. His father couldn’t have people at every airport waiting for them. He wasn’t that powerful. Meredith had even chosen a smaller airport to fly into. Something wasn’t adding up. They were <em>so careful.<em></em></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>	Stefan collapses onto the toilet seat, hugging his and his mother’s bag close. His hand unconsciously snakes into the side pocket of his own bag to feel for the familiar shape of a gun, but it was gone. They had to ditch the weapons in Holland. He doesn’t know how his mother managed to keep that pocketknife in her carry-on. Each time they moved, they had to leave their weapons behind and get new ones whenever they landed. They were defenseless. That part of it made Nathaniel terrified of flights. Not to mention his mother’s own sour mood whenever they were through security. It was a gamble every time. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	Stefan's other hand smooths along his side to dig his own fingers in his aching wound. They wouldn’t be caught. They wouldn’t. His mother took him away from Evermore four years ago and they’d been on the run ever since. Close run-ins had definitely happened, but they pulled through. They always did.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	“And that’s what’s going to happen this time,” he murmurs to himself, staring down at his lap. “You’re fine. You’re safe. Everything will be fine.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	A sharp knock on the bathroom stall causes him to jerk his head up and nearly fall off the toilet seat. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	“Excuse me?” A feminine voice calls. “Are you okay in there?”</p><p>It takes Stefan three attempts to find his voice. “Occupied,” he croaks, hoping the lady would go away, hoping his mom would come back. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	He fumbles through the belongings in their bags, searching for something, anything, not letting his eyes leave the door.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	“Are you sure you’re okay?” the women persist. “I heard you mumbling.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	<em>Please go away,</em> he mentally chants, his hand tightening around a pen. Not ideal, but usable. <em>Please just walk away.</em></p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	A beat of silence. “Hun? Are you here with someone?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	“That’s none of your business,” he groans, shifting anxiously on the toilet seat. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	Why wouldn’t she go away? He told her to leave. Where was his mother? What if this lady was one of the people with his father? Stefan’s mind wonders to Lola and her manicured nails, red lips, breathy voice, suggestive body language. He grimaces. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	“Go away. I’m fine,” he grunts out once more, pulling out the pen to hold it in front of him like he would a knife.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	The lady just couldn’t seem to get his words through her head. “You don’t sound fine. Why don’t you come out here so we can talk—”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> A scream from outside the bathroom cuts off her words. Stefan’s blood is immediately thrumming, and he grips the pen until his knuckles turn white, ready for the fight. More yells and commotion comes from outside the bathroom and, much to his relief, he soon hears a very familiar shout. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	“What are you doing!?” Meredith screeches. “Leave my son alone!” She wrenches open the stall door and drags Stefan out by the collar of his too-big shirt.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	“I’m—I’m sorry,” the woman stammers, looking positively taken aback. “This is just the women’s restroom, and I heard him mumbling, so I thought—”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	“Large spaces overwhelm him,” Meredith tells the woman crossly. She then turns to Stephen and shakes him hard. “What have I told you about running off! You can’t do that! I could lose you!”	</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Sorry mom,” he mumbles numbly, clenching the hand not holding the pen in the side of his pants. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	When Meredith tugs Stefan out of the bathroom, he casts his gaze to the side to see a large crowd surrounding someone. Security was running about and the men that stood by the doors earlier were nowhere to be seen. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	Stefan knows better than to ask what Meredith had done. Even as the crowd parts a bit and allows him to see the young teen laying on the ground in a pool of blood, he doesn’t dare ask his mother what happened while he was in the bathroom. He’d made that mistake once and hadn’t been able to do more than pathetically limp around for two weeks. Luckily, they had just settled down in a small town in Idaho then and were safe for that period of time. But his mother had made it clear that day. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	<em>“It’s either you or them, Jacob. Do you understand?”</em></p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>*****<br/>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The men followed them. Stefan thought his mother had lost them at the airport, but when they notice the car following them outside city limits, Meredith immediately speeds up. She’s going 80 mph when the men ran them off the road. They hit the ditch hard and the car flips too many times for Stefan to count. Meredith doesn’t stand a chance. She hadn’t buckled herself in when they stole the car from the outskirts of the airport. She was flung from the car at some point. Stefan blacks out temporarily due to hitting his head on the dashboard, but when he comes back to it, he is being dragged out of the car and onto the plowed cornfield. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	As soon as he realizes that the hands under his arms weren’t his mothers, he starts thrashing about, digging his heels into the soft dirt of the field. The air smells like chemicals and heat. It is nauseating. Of course, his nauseous could be a side-effect from violently thrashing about after hitting his head. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	Whoever’s dragging him didn’t put up with his thrashing for long. Stefan’s promptly dropped on the ground, but a kick to his side follows. His breath leaves him in one large swoop, and he curls onto his side to protect his already aching ribs. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	<em>Mom. Mom. I need to find mom,</em> he chants in his head. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	But before he can push himself up and look for her, another kick lands against his side. This one lacks power, but it is sharper. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	“No, no. You need to be more diligent. He’s tougher than he looks, isn’t that right Junior?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	Stefan freezes, his eyes wide and unfocused as he stares down at the brown dirt under his fingers. <em>Lola. Lola’s here. She’s here. My father—</em></p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	Adrenaline surges through his body and he springs up, kicking the dirt out from under his feet as he dashes away from the scene. He can hear his mother’s voice hissing in his ear <em>“run, get out of here, get away, don’t look back.”</em> But he makes the mistake of looking over at the bright flare-up to the side of him. One of the men has doused the car they’d stolen from the airport in gasoline and lit it on fire. Stefan is able to see a silhouette—his mother’s silhouette—in the front seat of the car, slumped against the steering wheel. This moment of hesitation is all it took for someone to catch up with him, wrap their beefy arms around his midsection, and throw him back on the ground. He hits his head hard. It takes more than a few moments for his ears to stop ringing. When they do, he hears Lola’s hyena-like laugh. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	“Did you see that!? He’s fast! I guess he’s always been, though. That’s how he and the cunt were able to escape Nathan all these years.”	</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	Stefan does a full-body flinch when he hears his father’s name. They haven’t spoken it for years, not since they left.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	“Mom,” he moans, watching the car go up in flames. He knew she was dead the moment she was ejected from the car. No one survives a wreck when they are going that fast without a seat belt. She always told him if she didn’t make it while they were on the run, he had to keep going. He couldn’t look back. And yet…</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	He closes his eyes, feeling the heat and smelling the chemicals of the fire. “Sorry mom. I’m sorry.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	<em>I’m sorry I didn’t run away like you told me.</em></p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	A moment later, Lola’s manicured nails dig into his short brown hair as she wrenches his head back. He feels his throat close up when he makes eye contact with the women who played a large part in tormenting him when he was in Baltimore. He can feel her sharp nails on other parts of him, can hear her laughing as he cried when her hand holding the knife just happened to ‘slip’ and cut open a part of his skin. He remembers all the nights in the basement or in the hallways or the dining table. She was always there, in the background, laughing and watching. His mother tried to keep him away from her and Romero and Jackson and all his father’s henchmen, but she wasn’t successful all the time. He was growing and with that came certain expectations. His mother couldn’t hold them all off for long, so she took him and ran, trying to keep him safe from all those things. But now they found them. They are here—<em>Lola is here</em>. She was always the worst. The men would follow orders and make him hurt, but Lola was the one who treated everything like it was a game. She took gleeful delight in making him cry or bleed. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	“Yes, so sad about mommy dearest Nathan was looking forward to teaching the bitch a lesson when we dragged her back. But at least we still have you.” She laughs like it was some crazy joke while stroking his hair, almost petting it. Stephen flinches away from her touch best he can, but she is pressed up against him. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	“Oh, Junior,” she croons. Her blood-red lips split open into a grin. “Did you miss me?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	“Fuck you!” He spat, wriggling against her grip. His skin was crawling whenever she touches him. The old scars she painted onto his body ache. “I could never miss you!”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	Her hand comes back, roughly this time, and she smashes his head into the ground. For a moment, all he can breathe in is dirt and grass. The cool touch of a knife against his cheek makes him freeze his efforts to get free. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	She clicks her tongue.  “I see your manners have worsened since being on the run with this bitch. Looks like I’ll have to carve them back into your, remind you of your place, make you miss me.” Her grin widens once more. “Think of it as a little sneak-peak of what’s going to happen to you once your father gets his hands on you.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	He thinks of those cruel blue eyes and blood-red hair, grin as sharp as the knives he used—his father. He nearly chokes on the word. Murderer. Butcher. Psychopath. Abuser. Sadist. Monster. There are many words he would use to describe that man, but father wasn’t one of them. His earliest memories of his father are filled with pain and fear. His childhood had no room for affection. His father thought he was old enough to learn how to play with knives when he was three. He got his first scar at that age too. Nathan let Lola begin to teach him when he was five. Jackson and Romero didn’t touch him unless his father ordered it, but he was only six when they gave him his first concussion. His father burned him with a hot iron when he was seven. On the eve of his eighth birthday, he was carved up until he begged Lola and his father to stop. His throat was raw, and Lola was laughing. He spent his eighth birthday in huddled up in bed, replenishing his strength and aching with pain. He didn’t see it, but when he was nine his father killed his best friend. His name was Tony and he was going to be a firefighter when he grew up, just like his dad. Nathan thought it appropriate to teach his son about attachments and disobedience and how fragile life can be. It wasn’t until he was 10 that he witnessed his father carving apart a man right in front of him while others watched. He remembered the horror on Kevin’s face, the rapt fascination on Riko’s. He made sure not to make any sort of expression. He’d seen his father do this before, after all. His father was the Butcher. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	The thought of returning to Baltimore makes his blood boil, his heart constrict. He can’t go back. Going back meant pain and terror. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p><em>“If they ever come to drag you back, you kill yourself. Do you hear me? Anything is better than being with your father!”</em> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	He can’t go back. He won’t. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	The scrape of a knife down his cheek jolts him out of his thoughts. Lola is calling out to him, trailing the sharp tip up and down his cheek, collecting droplets of blood from the shallow cuts. Someone is crushing his throat. He has to fight, but—but he isn’t getting enough air, he can’t breathe, <em>he can’t breathe—</em>	</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>	Stefan passes out from lack of oxygen in that cornfield, his mother burning in the car behind him. Hundreds of miles away, in the stadium that would become his prison for the next few years of his life, Nathaniel wakes up in a room full of people he never hoped to see again.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. There's No Place Like Hell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’s drugged. Nathaniel knows he is. His time unconscious was too restful and deep for it to be natural. And then he thinks perhaps he is still asleep and that he is having a nightmare. Because his father couldn’t be here. He couldn’t be here with his father. </p><p>But, of course, his life is an entire series of shitty circumstances. And shitty people. The prime example being the man standing in front of him. Nathan Wesninski has always been a man with an intimidating presence. His large and solid stature certainly helps, but there is a certain sadistic edge lying underneath those clear blue eyes and fiery hair that will make your skin crawl and any ounce of self-preservation stand in alert, urging you to run. Nathaniel has experienced that sadistic edge first hand and is not wanting to relive it. Although, he supposes that’s why his father is here. To remind him just what his place is.</p><p>Nathaniel can feel his muscles tensing in preparation for a beating. Or something worse. His father has some sixth sense for smelling fear in the air—this Nathaniel knows—because not even a moment later a sinister smile cuts across Nathan’s face, as deadly as the knives he uses. </p><p>“Junior,” he snarls, taking a slight step forward. </p><p>Nathaniel recoils, his bruised and battered body hitting Romero’s legs. The large man knocks Nathaniel upside the head, trying to get him to fall back in line. Where Lola is all games and sharp angles, her brother is all business and solid presence. They both evoke a different kind of fear, and they would take turns inflicting that on Nathaniel when he was younger. This is routine for him.</p><p>He immediately clamps his mouth shut, staring at the marble flooring in front of him. It’s so polished he can see his reflection. The brown hair and eyes, the pallid skin and petrified expression. He doesn’t move, not an inch. He wills his breath to calm, but it was no use. It comes quick and short and shallow. If he isn’t still and quiet, then he is no longer invisible and they will be able to hurt him.</p><p>“Look at me!” His father spits, and Nathaniel jerks his head up so fast he hears his neck crack.  </p><p>His face pinches at the prospect of this becoming his life yet again and his breathing grows more erratic. </p><p>
  <em>You need to be quiet. Shut up! Shut up!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Shut up, Abram!” Mary shouts.</em>
</p><p>Nathaniel flinches when Lola’s laugh rings through his ears. “Aw, he’s going to cry!” She says gleefully. </p><p>“Nathaniel Wesninski,” a new voice says. </p><p>The room is suddenly silent and still, with Nathaniel’s hushed yet panicked breathes being the only sound. The voice is unfamiliar to him, but he recognizes the air of superiority it holds. It is something he typically experiences in his father’s own jabbing commands, but Nathaniel is surprised to see his father and Lola fall back in line, their vicious expression still very much there and taunting. He knows it is a warning and a promise. </p><p>Romero’s thick fingers curl into his hair and jerk his gaze away from his father and onto the speaker of the voice. Nathaniel hisses as his scalp tingles. His head is still pounding from when he hit his head off the car dashboard.  </p><p>The man who spoke is young. Nathaniel doesn’t think he can be past his mid-twenties. And although he doesn’t know the man, something about him is familiar. </p><p>“Do you know who I am?”</p><p>Romero shakes his head roughly again when Nathaniel takes too long to answer. </p><p>“No,” he rasps.</p><p>“I’m not surprised, but then again there was no telling what your mother could have told you while you were away,” the man hums, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles in his expensive suit. </p><p>Away. Like they had taken a vacation or something. </p><p>Nathaniel hears someone grumble but doesn’t dare stray his eyes from the man in front of him. He doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to with how tight Romero’s grip on his hair is.</p><p>“Do you know anything about the Moriyamas? Or your father’s involvement with them?”</p><p>Another sharp tug causes him to spew out the first thought that comes to mind. “Riko.”</p><p>A displeased expression comes across the man’s face and Nathaniel shrinks back on instinct, crying out when Romero wrenches him back up into a proper position. The man in the suit hardly even blinks at the exchange.</p><p>“Ah, yes, my brother. You met him four years ago, did you not? Here, at Evermore?”</p><p>
  <em>Brother?</em>
</p><p> Nathaniel’s mind whirls on the implication. Brother. This man is Riko’s older brother. That’s why he looks familiar at first. And they are currently at Evermore? He didn’t see the entirety of the stadium when he was here years ago, but he can’t imagine what part of an Exy stadium would have marble flooring and sleek furniture. </p><p>“Yes,” he says carefully. “Playing Exy.”</p><p>The man—Riko’s older brother—<em>a Moriyama</em>—stares at him impassively for a moment before turning around and strolling towards a nearby table where a tumbler of some type of alcohol is sitting out. The older Moriyama takes his time making his drink, all the while no one else in the room talked or moved. Nathaniel purposely avoids looking over at his father and ignores the feeling of uneasy that is steadily growing inside of him. </p><p>“I heard from my uncle you played well,” he says, turning back towards Nathaniel once he finishes pouring his drink. “That you would be a great addition to the team.”</p><p>It doesn’t take a genius to know that the uncle he is talking about was Tetsuji Moriyama, the coach of the Ravens and Riko’s caretaker. Although, from what Nathaniel remembers, he basically lets Riko run wild. </p><p>Nathaniel ducks his head, politely accepting the compliment while trying to make sense of where this conversation is going. Apparently, that is acceptable because Romero doesn’t pull him around like a rag doll that time. </p><p>“Do you still think you can be? A great addition to the team, that is,” the Moriyama asks before taking a sip of his drink. </p><p>Still staring at the flooring, Nathaniel begins to pick at the skin around his fingernails. Exy. It’s a topic he hasn’t revisited in years. His mother absolutely forbid him from talking about it after she stole him away that night. He quickly learned what happened if he didn’t listen to her, and there were more pressing issues to worry about while they were on the run than a sport. </p><p>But now he is being asked about it. He finds it difficult to go back to such a seemingly mundane thing after living a life of extremities. Of course, Exy isn’t exactly mundane for him. He only spent an hour or two on the court that day, but he felt as if he was breathing in straight ambrosia as he ran around. His muscles were singing and his heart leaping. It was a drastic 360 from when his mother came into his room later than night, panicked and short, telling him they were leaving. </p><p>He didn’t think he would ever get the chance to think about Exy again. </p><p>A sharp stinging on the back of his head drags him from his thoughts. He yelps, straightening up once more before realizing where he is again and what he was asked. </p><p>“Because,” the Moriyama continues. “If you can no longer be of use to us, then why are we keeping you here?”</p><p>Nathaniel doesn’t have to look over to know there is a wicked grin on both his father and Lola’s face. The feeling of dread grows until it reaches his throat, making him nauseous once again. He doesn’t know this man, but he clearly runs in the same group as his father. And men like his father rule by issuing fear through threats. Nathaniel had heard his father working in the basement and the screams that always accompanied it long enough to know that when someone’s usefulness ended, so did their life. </p><p>When he answers he can hear Mary’s shouting and feel her rough hands. She would be disappointed. </p><p>“I can play,” He gasps out, fighting against Romero’s grip. “I can still play.”</p><p>Lola laughs. The Moriyama regards him for a moment and then drains the rest of his drink before setting it down and coming to stand before Nathaniel. His hand, cold from glass, grips his chin firmly, tilting his head back until his neck protests at the angle. Nathaniel is forced to stare into his eyes, which he finds to be as cold as his hand.</p><p>“You and your mother caused us a lot of grief when you ran away. I know you were young and uninformed about some matters, so that gives you a bit of concession.” His fingers tighten on Nathaniel’s chin. He looks to be considering something. “A bit. Not everything can be blamed on your late mother.”</p><p>Nathaniel hears Lola and his father mutter something about his mother. He clenches his jaw,  fighting off the instinct to fire something back, but when he hears the words “dirty whore,” he yanks his head from the Moriyama’s grip. </p><p>“Don’t call her that—!”</p><p>A hand catches him across his face. Romero releases his grip on Nathaniel’s hair, allowing the boy to crash against the marble. His cheek hits the floor first and he can immediately feel it begin to swell. </p><p>“You need to learn your place, Nathaniel. As I said, we’ve been somewhat lenient because you didn’t know the full story. But our generosity is coming to its end and we have no room for boys who can’t listen and have a smart mouth. Do you understand?”</p><p>Nathaniel coughs, settling for a nod when he determines he can’t trust his voice at that moment. He wants to curl himself into a ball and disappear. He understands what the man is saying but doesn’t understand <em>where</em> he is coming from. What sort of relationship does the Moriyamas have with his family?</p><p>“Your mother,” the Moriyama begins, “took you that night, but what she also took was $10 million. From us.”</p><p>Nathaniel’s head jerks up again. The Moriyama’s eyes are calm and steady. He doesn’t realize he had been shaking his head until the man speaks up again. </p><p>“Yes. It wasn’t your father’s money. It was ours. You see, your father works for us—the Moriyamas. He deals with our…problems. So you can see how it can be an issue when his child becomes one of our problems.”</p><p>His head feels heavy, and he’s pretty sure it’s not only from the car crash and getting smacked around. He dares to peak at his father, who has an expression of rage so vivid that Nathaniel knows what this Moriyama is saying must be true. That would explain why his father, usually so volatile and in-charge, would step back into line the moment this man began to speak. He doesn’t want to believe it, but something tells him it’s the truth. The implications of his mother’s actions begin to hit him full force. </p><p>“I didn’t know,” he mumbles.</p><p>“We know,” the man says. “Which is why we won’t kill you if you give us a reason now to. Your mother couldn’t have spent all the money. We already found some in your bag, but that’s only a fraction of it. Where is the rest?”</p><p>Nathaniel’s mind rapidly flashes through all places they went to, everything his mother did. Of course, fake documents cost lots of money, especially if you wanted them done well. General travel, rent, food, medical supplies, weapons…those all added up, but…ten million dollars. They couldn’t have even spent a third of that during their years away. </p><p>His mother had laid a plan for what he would do if she didn’t make it. They always had enough money on hand for him to get to the next convenience store. He would buy a burner phone. Call the number she had engrained in his mind. Relay the riddle and then she said things would work out from there. He’d never had a chance to test it, obviously. When his mother died, he was dragged away. </p><p>But the money. Where is the money?</p><p>“I don’t know,” he whispers.</p><p>“What?” The Moriyama’s voice is harsh and fast. </p><p>“I don’t know,” he repeats, daring to lift his head. “We traveled a lot and she met with people. I—I always went with her, but she made me sit outside the rooms so I couldn’t hear their conversation. I don’t know what she did with all the—“</p><p>Another backhand sends him crashing down to the floor. He lets out a low groan as his head throbs painfully. The Moriyama straightens up and smooths his suit, taking a deep breath. He makes a move towards the liquor table again. </p><p>“Mary was always a sneaky, conniving bitch like that,” Nathan snarls, looking a bit worried, much to Nathaniel’s surprise. </p><p>The Moriyama raises his head, effectively silencing the Butcher. “You better hope that we find the money, Nathaniel. You too Nathan. She was your wife. Take some responsibility instead of pushing all the blame on your son.”</p><p>The Moriyama turns back to Nathaniel and nods at the men standing behind him near the door. “I’m beginning to lose patience, so I believe now is time for you to leave us. My uncle wants to see you play.”</p><p>The man takes a sip out of his refilled glass. “Do well, Nathaniel. Prove that you can be of some use to us. And do take the time to think about where your mother could have hidden our money.”</p><p>The guards near the door wrench him to his feet shortly after the Moriyama finishes talking. Nathaniel scrambles to find his footing. </p><p>“And Nathaniel,” the Moriyama calls right as he is about to leave the room. “My condolences for your mother, but really, what did she expect would happen if she tried to run from us?”</p><p>Nathaniel isn’t naive enough to miss the underlying threat. </p><p>
  <em>If you try anything, it won’t end well for you.</em>
</p><p>This time he manages to hold back his biting response. He gives a jerky nod before leaving the room. </p><p>*****</p><p>The men lead Nathaniel down a series of stairs and hallways until they finally reach a locker room. He is typically pretty good at remembering directions, especially when your life is on the line, but it is hard to make sense of anything here. Everything is black and bleak. Nothing stood out as a marker to tell you that you had been there before. Nathaniel can feel himself start to get antsy in his own skin. </p><p>“Hurry up and change. Tetsuji wants you on the court,” one of the men barks, shoving Nathaniel into the locker room. On a nearby bench lays a complete uniform set and the necessary equipment. Black and red. Fitting.  </p><p>The men stand a few feet away, guarding the door as if they expect him to make a run for it. When Nathaniel edges around one of the locker rows they bark at him to not try anything funny. </p><p>“I’m just changing,” he grits out. </p><p>“Out here. Where we can see you.”</p><p>“What? You want a free striptease.”</p><p>One of them snag his bicep and forcefully drag him out. He turns around so his back is to them as he removes his clothes with shaking hands. He shoves the uniform on quickly, not wanting to expose himself—his scars<em>—to anyone any longer than he has to. At least they didn’t make any comments towards it. That’s more than what he can say for some people.</em></p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>As he is putting his uniform on, he realizes that regardless of all the time that has passed, he still gains that excitement and anticipation that comes with playing this sport. When his hand reaches out to grab a racquet, it feels smooth and balanced in his hand. It all feels natural.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>When he arrives on the court, there are many faces he doesn’t recognize. He spots Riko and Kevin. Riko shoots him a savage grin. Kevin looks nearly green in the face, but when the buzzer goes off, signaling the beginning of the scrimmage, he reels in his expression and looks nothing short of a pro athlete. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The scrimmage is brutal. He hasn’t played Exy in a while, but he is pretty sure the objective of the game is to get the ball in the goal. Although it seems like everyone else makes it their mission to plow into Nathaniel as many times as possible. He hits the court and plexiglass more times than he can count, causing his bruises and other various injuries to scream in protest, but each time he grits his teeth and pushes himself back up, telling himself this is nothing compared to his childhood or the constant anxiousness that accompanied him and his mother when they were on the run. Right now his largest threat is a bunch of egotistical teenagers. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Riko gets his fair share of hits in too. He manages to pin Nathaniel against the wall with his racquet pressed against his chest in what Nathaniel is sure is an illegal hold. Riko leans in. His hot breath washes over the other’s face as he whispers, “Welcome home, Nathaniel.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Nathaniel’s instincts cause him to shove Riko away violently. He gets away with it because it is an Exy scrimmage, but he takes brief satisfaction in the look of annoyance that comes across Riko’s face. Kevin is quick to bark at them—or rather, Nathaniel—to get his head back in the game. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Kevin is brutal too, but a different kind. He maneuvers around Nathaniel at least a dozen times—making half of those shots in the goal—before Nathaniel is finally able to figure out his footing and pivot to intercept one of those shots. Kevin nearly trips over his feet in surprise. On the other side of the court, Riko halts as well. Nathaniel looks down, realizing he’d stopped Kevin, a task many other players have failed to do. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>A new sense of determination and elation fills him and he shoots back the same words Kevin directed towards him earlier: “Come on, Day. Get your head in the game.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Kevin’s surprised expression is immediately clouded over and when the game resumed, he is more brutal than before. Nathaniel watches, though, and is able to match him—well, part of the time. Will alone can’t beat hard work. While Kevin and Riko have been training for years at Evermore, Nathaniel has been running for his life. Little good that did him considering he’s back. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>By the time the buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the scrimmage, all the players are breathing hard, even—much to Nathaniel’s satisfaction—Kevin and Riko. They both are looking at him—Kevin with contempt and unease and Riko with a sort of fervor that sends warning bells off in Nathaniel’s head. He ignores it. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The door onto the court is wrenched open and Tetsuji Moriyama, the coach of the Ravens, steps onto the court. No one speaks as he crossed the distance, his cane echoing throughout the high ceilings.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You will play with the Ravens,” Tetsuji announces as his flat gaze rakes over Nathaniel. “As a backliner. You’re small but fast. With the right training, you will do well in that position.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Riko looks delighted at the news, but something is misplaced. His look reminds Nathaniel of the look Lola gets when she has alone time with Nathaniel. The end result is never in his favor. Kevin, once again, looks sick at the prospect of him joining the team. Nathaniel can’t find the effort to care.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>He is playing <em>Exy.</em></p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>In that moment, he ignores the biting reprimands from his mother and her sharp nails shaking him roughly, trying to purge the ridiculous idea consuming his thoughts. He wishes he could explain things to her. He wishes she were <em>here</em>.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <em>This is how I'm going to survive now, mom.</em>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>He had forgotten how thrilling being on the court was. He took lots of hits—before and during the scrimmage—which left a pulsing soreness throughout his body, but there is also a euphoric feeling that had been brought on by the game. Part of him feels like he could breathe for once, which is ironic considering the full extent of his circumstance. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>But he is <em>playing</em>. Testsuji said he is playing for the Ravens. When he was younger, he imagined what his life would be like when he grew up. He wondered if he would be dead or be like his father. Both were horrible options, but he found the former winning out.<br/>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>But this is much better. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>After Tetsuji made his announcement, the Moriyama guards meet him in the locker room to bring him back to the tower where Ichiro and his father have been watching. When Nathaniel enters, still slightly out of breath, and in his sweat-soaked practice jersey, he somewhat expects his father to be upset or angry maybe. After all, Nathaniel had made the team. He would be playing Exy here at the Nest. It was enough to allow his shoulders to sag a bit, knowing that he wouldn’t be returning home to Baltimore with his father. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>His eyes seek out the Moriyama next, who is now lounging on the leather couch that is pushed in front of the glass wall. The angle allows him to view the Exy court. He watched him play. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Congratulations,” the man says without acknowledging Nathaniel’s presence in the room. “Looks like you will be of some use to us.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Nathaniel doesn’t know what to say to that. He nervously picks at his nails, the earlier adrenaline beginning to wear off. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Did you think any more about the money?”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>He halts, swallowing the uneasiness he felt growing inside of him. Nathaniel shifts and gazes around the room. Nathan is still staring at him with that hungry expression that promised pain. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Uh, N-No. I, uh, don’t know what she could’ve done with it. Maybe—“</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The Moriyama waves his hand, and Nathaniel flinches back when his father takes a step forward. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Wait. Wait!” He cries. The bodyguards who escorted him to the locker room and back are a solid, unforgiving presence behind him. “Just give me more time! I’ll think of something!”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>But the Moriyama continues to gaze over the court as Nathan advances. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Please! Sir Moriyama—!” He begs as Nathan’s hand closes in on Nathaniel’s uniform collar.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>His father yanks him close. If it wasn’t for the rough manner he does it in, it is almost as if he is going to give his son a hug. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I wish your mother was here. Then it would be a family reunion,” he sneers. “Since she’s gone, I’ll give you her punishment in addition to yours. I hope she’s watching from below because I want this to hurt her too. You can’t be having all the fun.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>He grins savagely as Nathaniel struggles in his grip. He feels as if his father holds his heart in his hands, not his shirt. His throat threatens to close up again, and Nathaniel looks towards the couch for one last chance. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Please, <em>please.</em> I did what you asked,” Nathaniel pleads, hating the tinge of desperation in his voice. He can’t go back. <em>He can’t.</em></p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Nathaniel, I would say it’s nothing personal, but it is. You made a mistake. How can we know you won’t run off again or disobey us—“</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I won’t! I promise I won’t.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>““I'll be more inclined to believe you after you spend a little time with your father. I think you might need some incentive to remember where that money is and where your loyalties lie.”<br/>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I told you! I don’t know anything!”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Nathaniel’s words fall upon deaf ears. The Moriyama dismisses them without further notice, not even flinching as Nathaniel is dragged from the room kicking and screaming.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>He struggles as they drag him outside to the car and during the entire drive. Lola laughs and slaps him around. Her hits are meaner than Romero’s in their location, but her brother’s are heavier. They seem to enjoy his struggle, though, because neither of them hit hard enough to completely incapacitate him. Lola snarls and leaves a claw-like mark on his cheek when he catches her nose with his elbow. He’s sure his ankle is swelling from how they roughly throw him onto the pavement in front of the house. It isn’t his childhood home. No, that is too far, but Nathaniel recognizes it nonetheless.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> Despite the hostile family dynamic, Nathaniel’s family did do some normal family things from time to time. One of those being vacations. Nathaniel never understood why they had a vacation home in West Virginia, only a few hours from their home in Baltimore. Mary quickly shut down his questions, telling him they enjoyed the history the state provided. And eight-year-old Nathaniel never thought to question her. Still, Mary tried to keep him away from the vacation home as much as possible. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Nathaniel now knows the purpose of this house. While it is relatively close to Baltimore, it is within an hour or Edgar Allen. Of course, his father often came down here for business. This explained why Nathaniel heard more screams here than at his home in Baltimore. It explains why there is a cellar here just like the one at home, a cellar that Nathaniel has visited just as many times as he did the one in Baltimore. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>And while it isn’t this childhood home, seeing this place again makes his body freeze up just long enough for Romero to take the opportunity and scoop him up to half-carry, half-drag him inside. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Entering the house acts as a switch of some kind. His previous panic turns in full-blown hysteria. Nathaniel yells and twists and swings the whole time, knowing exactly where they are taking him. He feels as if he’s back in the skin of his younger self, being dragged down to the basement for a “reprimand” after embarrassing or disobeying his father. Mary would either be absent or fending off one of Nathan’s other goons who was holding her back. Nathaniel would cry for his mother until it was obvious that she wasn’t coming. Then he would just cry in general. Lola cackled the entire time—she was always there as they dragged him through the house and down the stairs. His little legs kicking fruitlessly, not even hitting flesh most of the time. If they did, the men carrying his down hardly flinched. He was small and young at the time. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>But even now, as he kicks and squirms in Romero’s arms, the larger man only grunts as he heads for the stairs. Once Nathaniel sees the cellar door at the bottom, he sinks his nails in Romero’s forearms, throws his head back. He must have hit something because Romero curses and drops him. Before Nathaniel can regain his bearings, a sharp, pointed shoe is pushing him and he is…</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>falling. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>His head hits the cellar door hard enough for him to black out momentarily. When he comes back to it, Romero is once again dragging him, bringing him into the cellar. Nathaniel spots the familiar wall of knives, the chains, the stains of blood. He lunges for the door in a final, desperate attempt to get away. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>He knows what would happen if they seal the door. No one will come down or interrupt until Nathan is done, and Nathan is never done until Nathaniel is left a crying, bloody mess on the floor. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Streaks of blood are added to the ones already on the inside of the door. His nails split and break off, but he doesn’t notice at that moment. All he can focus on is the latching of the cellar door in front of him and the pain that is guaranteed to follow.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wow, that was a light ending, eh? *sweat drops* These two chapters are more of the story set-up. Next chapter will be more of the beginning of the storyline/plot. This is a bit longer than the first chapter and I added/changed some details in canon. Just minor changes, like the money thing and the vacation home. </p><p>Anyway, let me know what you think! Leave a comment or kudos. That would be greatly appreciated! Also, for the time being, I'm just using the * method instead of italicizing because I have yet to figure out how to do that. If you know how, please let me know. </p><p>I hope you enjoyed it!</p><p>-orth</p><p>(also do yall see the notes for chapter 1 &amp; 2 at the end of this chapter, or is that just something the author sees?)<br/>^^ my unfamiliarity with AO3 is showing</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. No One's Here to Sleep</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Samson crashes into Nathaniel hard. He’s used to taking hits—in more ways than one, courtesy of his childhood and the past two years spent at the Nest. He knows how to bounce back, how to tense up to lessen the damage of an impacting swing. And while this blow was rough, it wouldn’t normally be enough to send him off-balance and cause him to crash down onto the court floor. Although, he supposes lack of sleep could be a factor. And in retrospect, maybe he shouldn’t have skipped dinner last night and breakfast this morning. </p><p>Nearly as soon as Nathaniel hits the floor, he was pushing himself back up. The Ravens fit their name rather well. They’re always watching, hovering above to wait for any sign of weakness before swooping down and tearing into you as if you were roadkill. That’s what a freshman told Nathaniel, anyway. He was only at the Nest for two months before leaving. Life under the stadium was too demanding for him and it was clear he didn’t live up to the expectations that came with being a Raven. He, of course, had to sign an NDA before leaving. None of what went on here was allowed to reach outsiders. </p><p>Players didn’t leave often, but that was only because potential Ravens were required to go through a series of tests, both physically and mentally, before officially being invited to the team. If the environment here was too…extreme for their liking, they typically dropped before even being seriously considered. But it’s not like the Ravens had a shortage of people to pick from.</p><p>To the general public, Riko and Kevin are Exy superstars.</p><p>Inside the Nest, Kevin is a narcissistic alcoholic who believed his word was absolute in the Nest. Second to Riko’s obviously. He never fails to be an absolute dick to anyone other than the one who holds the ranking above his. Kevin’s spineless when he’s pitted against Riko, but together—with Kevin’s ego and Riko’s sadistic streak—they’re an absolute <em>delight</em> to deal with.</p><p>“That was sloppy,” Kevin snaps as he stalks by to get re-set. Nathaniel’s little slip-up allowed for the striker to get past and make the goal. He knows that’s unacceptable and internally berates himself once again. “If you slip up again, you’re going to be benched.”</p><p>Nathaniel’s disgruntled expression shifts to one of pure irritation. He knows what happens if he’s benched. He knows <em>Kevin knows</em> what happens if he’s benched. “Shut up Kevin,” he snarls back before fixing his grip on his racquet and jogging back to his spot. </p><p>Practice always had a sense of urgency and bloodlust, especially during the mornings. Today’s was especially brutal. Nathaniel pretends he hasn’t felt Riko’s eyes on him since stepping foot into the locker room this morning. He was honestly surprised when Riko didn’t corner him first thing, but now, after taking a barrage of hits already, he realizes what Riko and his lackeys were whispering about in the locker room this morning. </p><p>Nathaniel’s eyes cut towards Jean who’s on the other side of the court. When Jean woke him up this morning, Nathaniel noticed that he was moving slower and stiffer than normal. When Nathaniel had returned to the room early in the morning after completing his late-night assignment, Jean was already tucked in bed asleep. After seeing him this morning in the locker room, Nathaniel knows something must’ve happened last night while he was gone. Jean, like him, tends to play the part of Riko’s personal punching bag. </p><p><em>Possessions</em> they are. Riko makes sure they know it too. </p><p>Jean Moreau arrived a few months after Nathaniel was dragged back and told he was be playing for the Ravens. Like Nathaniel, his parents had given him to the Moriyamas to pay off their debt. Unlike Nathaniel, Jean has always been quiet and slight in the presence of authority. He knew when to duck his head and say yes to lessen the blows. A lesser person might say he was a coward. Nathaniel knew he was a survivor. </p><p>Jean was immediately paired up with Nathaniel upon his arrival, much like Riko and Kevin. Except the difference between the two pairs was obvious. Kevin exploited it; Riko flaunted it. Anything unfortunate that befell Nathaniel or Jean was likely either directly given or ordered by Riko. Hence, the bruises Nathaniel spotted on Jean’s skin when he changed out this morning and the illegal charges he himself had taken since the beginning of practice. </p><p>When he dares to glance over at Riko, he finds the Raven already starting at him with a look of smug satisfaction. Nathaniel’s upper lip curls and he jerks his gaze away as the new play begins. </p><p>He manages to make it to the end of practice without getting hit too many more times. He’s always been quick on his feet. Nathaniel makes sure to snake up ahead and stand by Jean as the Ravens file into the locker room. His roommate looks down at him. The grimace that was previously splayed across this face morphing into something more neutral. </p><p>“You stumbled too many times today,” Jean says quietly, his French accent clear as the day he arrived. His words aren’t meant to be condescending, just an acknowledgment of facts. “Riko will use that against you. I told you to eat breakfast this morning.”</p><p>“What happened last night?” Nathaniel asks, ignoring Jean’s words. “Don’t think I don't notice how you’re moving around. What did Riko do?” </p><p>Jean shrugs, the small movement causing him to wince in pain. Nathaniel saw a glimpse of the bruises this morning, but not the full extent. Although the Nest allowed for little to no privacy, especially for Jean and Nathaniel, the two had mastered the art of quickly changing clothes while showing little skin. Sometimes Riko allowed it. Other times he would have his lackeys stand and tug at their clothes, snatching them away so they were left exposed and bleeding. </p><p>“Riko did what he always does. He doesn’t need a reason for it,” Jean explains as they stop at their lockers. He’s right. Riko’s only used to taking what he wants. Rejection doesn’t go over well with him, which is why he and Nathaniel have the most <em>marvelous</em> time together. </p><p>Nathaniel swallows, opening his locker. “Did he—?”</p><p>A brush of something against his face and upper body causes him to instinctively jerk back. He sharply inhales and brings up his arms, prepared to fend off an approaching threat. His eyes are wide and his mind briefly flashes back to a memory of curtains being dropped over him and then tightened. His throat begins to tighten, but then he sees the flutter of something colorful in front of his face. </p><p>He’s brought back to where he stands in the Raven’s locker room. Surrounding him on the floor are dozens upon dozens of single dollar bills. They had burst from his locker when he opened it. That’s what he felt. </p><p>Nathaniel looks up at Jean, who’s standing next to him and staring down at the scene with a sense of unease. All of the dollar bills are dirty and wrinkled as if they’d been fished from sketchy places. Nathaniel feels the weight settle down on his chest before Riko even comes around the corner. </p><p>“Oh, I think my brother forgot to pay you last night,” Riko purrs, his voice smooth but his eyes alight and cruel. They rake over the spread of dollar bills across the floor. “My, that’s not that much money, is it Nathaniel? I think my brother was dissatisfied with your services.”</p><p>Nathaniel is stuck staring down at the crumpled bills, not ready to look up and face the others. He feels a cold sensation seep through him as his vulnerabilities are laid out on display like the very money at his feet for everyone to see. </p><p>Part of him doesn’t know why he’s surprised. After all, there’s no privacy in the Nest. </p><p>But the things Nathaniel did at the end of the day—those things weren’t in the Nest. Part of him thought—<em>hoped</em>—that Riko wouldn’t find out about those things. At least not until Nathaniel himself came to terms with them.</p><p>Then again, this wasn’t exactly the worst thing that could happen. Riko isn’t entirely correct either. </p><p>Riko is smirking when Nathaniel finally looks up at him. Judging by the stunned look on Kevin’s face, Nathaniel would bet he didn’t know anything about Riko’s little stunt. </p><p>“Riko,” Nathaniel murmurs, his voice soft but even. The rage is there, simmering low in the pit of his stomach. </p><p>“<em>King</em>,” Riko corrects. </p><p>Nathaniel’s lips move on their own accord. “There’s no need to call me that.”</p><p>Riko’s face, arrogant and satisfied moments before, contorts in rage. He surges forward and snags the front of Nathaniel’s jersey in his fist, shoving him back against the lockers. Nathaniel’s own hands shoot up to wrap around Riko’s wrists. His mouth is open in a half snarl while Riko is positively sneering down at him. Kevin and Jean both take a step closer. </p><p>“You think you’re funny?” Riko hisses. He leans down, crowds him in so his breath is washing over Nathaniel’s face as he speaks. “You’re always running your mouth. Is that what my brother likes about you?”</p><p>Nathaniel turns his head slightly to the side, his skin crawling at Riko’s proximity and his own position. He sees Jean a few steps away, eyes wide and wary. He meets Nathaniel’s gaze and his eyes soften a bit. Nathaniel’s grip flexes against Riko’s wrists. Only Jean knows how he’s feeling. </p><p>But past Jean stands the rest of the Ravens. They’re all frozen, as they are when Riko is making his presence known. Nathaniel sees the same thing on every one of their faces and the rage boils over. Once again, his mouth is moving before he can stop himself, fueling the story Riko compiled.     </p><p>“He likes a lot of things about me, <em>likes me</em>. Which is more than I can say about you. That’s why when he visits he calls me up to the Tower instead of—“</p><p>Nathaniel is expecting the hit. Riko is easy to anger and quick to punish, but the blow still knocks the breath out of him. He whips his hand out to catch himself against the floor but Riko is already wrenching him back up, holding Nathaniel close to his face. His eyes are wild and crazed. </p><p>“You’ll regret that. When my brother gets bored of you what will you do? The Ravens have no more for a <em>used whore</em>—"</p><p>Nathaniel sees red and lashes out. He knocks Riko’s hands aside and his elbow catches him in the chin. Riko’s head snaps back and he snarls at Nathaniel. The locker room is suddenly bursting with shouts and scuffles. Everyone’s in motion. Nathaniel is too preoccupied with Riko to look for Jean. </p><p>“<em>You’re dead</em>,” Riko seethes. “I’ll teach you some respect. I <em>own</em> you! You are <em>nothing</em>! I am your <em>King</em>!”</p><p>“You’re not my anything,” Nathaniel bites back, putting as much conviction into the words as he can. </p><p>Riko lunges at him, but Nathaniel pivots out of the way, spinning around in search of Jean. He’s being held back by Samson and Brauner. Riko’s lackeys. </p><p>Two pairs of hands grab Nathaniel by his arms and pull him back sharply, knocking him off his feet. He kicks fruitlessly at the floor, trying to get his feet back under him as he’s brought back to Riko. </p><p>The Nest is a hierarchy. Most people conform to the idea of Riko being King. If you don’t, well, you’ll be the next punching bag Riko uses. </p><p>The two Ravens that grabbed him, Johnson and Reacher, force him onto his knees in front of Riko, who fists his hand in his hair, yanking his head back so Nathaniel is looking up at him. He clenches his jaw and steels his expression, not wanting to give Riko the satisfaction that comes with  Nathaniel realizing he’s trapped. Kevin stands still as a statue behind Riko. Nathaniel sneers. <em>Coward</em>.</p><p>Rage is still swirling in Riko’s eyes, but there’s a new wave of calmness that immediately sets Nathaniel on edge.</p><p>“If you’re still this lively after going through the hands of your father, I wonder what it will take to properly break you. I’ve been lenient Nathaniel. But you’ll be graduating soon. You can’t walk on the court as a Raven—<em>as my number 4</em>—with that current attitude of yours.”</p><p>Just to be spiteful, Nathaniel spits out, “Fuck you.”</p><p>Riko’s lips tighten but his eyes light up at Nathaniel’s words. He harshly tugs Nathaniel’s hair once, causing the redhead to grunt in discomfort. </p><p>“Johnson, Reacher, take Nathaniel into the showers. Jean too. I think they need to learn another lesson.”</p><p>Immediately, Nathaniel is hoisted up into the air. He kicks out but can’t find any purchase. </p><p>“Let go! Let go of me!” Nathaniel shouts as they jostle him around. </p><p>He twists around as best he can to get free. Uses his sharp angles and body elbows. He hits flesh. Hears someone grunt. And then he’s moving through the air, tipping backward. The hands shift so one pair is wrapped around his torso, another at his knees. Their palms resting on the underside of his thighs, hot through the thin fabric on his compression shorts. Nathaniel’s heart constricts. He digs his nails into the arms around his torso, scraping his nails across the flesh. </p><p>“Get off of me! Don’t touch me!”</p><p>They curse and stumble with him again. A hand brushes his upper thigh, his ass. He sneezes his eyes tight. His muscles still ache from after practice, but he kicks wildly still. He hears a tear, feels a cool breeze on his chest. The hands touch his skin, his scars.</p><p>“What are you idiots doing!? It’s a twenty feet walk to the showers!”</p><p>“He’s a slippery little fucker! He keeps fucking scratching me!”</p><p>“Get his arms then!”</p><p>Nathaniel moves to avoid it, but he’s outnumbered and they’re bigger and stronger than him. As soon as their hands clamp around his wrists and ankles, restricting the majority of his movement, he feels the panic truly begin to take home. It bursts out from inside him, paralyzes his limbs, crushes his windpipe. He’s faintly aware of how short and quick his breaths have become. His heart is beating too fast. The hands hold him tight and he feels like concrete. </p><p>“Riko!” A sharp voice rings out. </p><p>Everyone stops. They all know who the voice belongs to. </p><p>“Drop them.”</p><p>“But uncle—!”</p><p>“Drop them!”</p><p>A moment later Nathaniel is released. He awkwardly lands on the ground. It hurts, but no one’s holding onto him. He scrambles up and a few steps away from Johnson and Reacher who aren’t looking at him, but rather the Master who stands in the middle of the locker room. He’s staring a Riko with a stern expression on his face. Riko stares back, infuriated that someone interrupted his fun. </p><p>The Master looks over to where Nathaniel stands near the showers and where Jean is a few feet over. His gaze returns back to his nephew before he tells Riko to follow him. They both disappear without another word, but Nathaniel knows this is far from the end. </p><p>It takes a few more minutes for the rest of the Ravens to file out. Normally, they would stick around to jeer at Nathaniel and Jean when they were left vulnerable, but today it was clear they were off-limits. Once everyone was gone, Nathaniel stares after them. He half expects Riko to race back in and finish the job, but when silence is the only thing that greets him, he finally moves back towards his locker. </p><p>He once more feels a breeze on his chest. He looks down to see that his practice jersey has ripped. The scars underneath appear harsh under the lights. He rips off his ruined jersey and shoves it back into his locker, pulling out a regular t-shirt to slip on instead. He ignores the crumpled bills at his feet. </p><p>“Nathaniel,” Jean says. </p><p>Nathaniel pauses, hands on either side of his locker as he stares unseeingly at black steel. He never told Jean what he did when he disappeared every night. They were partners, but they trusted one another. Jean never asked and Nathaniel never told. And although Riko’s announcement wasn’t exactly the truth, it wasn’t that far from it. </p><p>“It’s fine. I’m fine.”</p><p>Jean doesn’t say anything else and silently begins to change out next to him. Right as they're finishing up, the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway echoes throughout the locker room. Nathaniel freezes, but Kevin is the one who steps through the door. His expression is pinched as he approaches them. He stops about five feet away, which is smart. He’s out of arm's reach. </p><p>He stares at them for a good two minutes before Nathaniel loses his patience and snaps, “What Kevin?”</p><p>Kevin opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again.</p><p>“Spit it out, Day,” Jean says, his tone cold. </p><p>“The Master stopped Riko because he got word that Ichirou was to require Nathaniel’s assistance in the East Tower tonight. Nathaniel couldn’t be in a bad condition, so the Master interfered.”</p><p>Nathaniel stiffens, mind going blank for a moment. Tonight. Of course he was needed tonight. What did he expect? He lets out a long-suffering sigh, mentally preparing himself for another restless night. It was fine. He could deal with this. </p><p>“Oh, okay. Well, that was nice of him,” Neil responds, voice heavy with sarcasm. He pretends he doesn’t feel as hollow as he sounds.</p><p>“He didn’t tell Riko that, did he?” Jean asks. Nathaniel sinks further into the haze that's slowly creeping into his mind. </p><p>Kevin grimaced but nodded. “Riko wasn’t happy.”</p><p>“Riko’s never happy,” Nathaniel mutters. He slams his locker shut. Kevin flinches at the sound. “Anything else Kevin?”</p><p>He pauses again. His mouth twists as if he’s debating something. Kevin leans in. “<em>Are</em> you sleeping with Ichi—?”</p><p>“<em>God</em>, Kevin,” Nathaniel snarls, all teeth and nasty temper. This is Nathaniel Wesninski, son of the Butcher. His hands are trembling, so he clenches them into fists in an attempt to fight his sudden urge to hit something. Or someone. “<em>No. I’m not</em>. I wouldn’t—why don’t you mind your own fucking business for once?”</p><p>Kevin’s eyes harden over once again and he straightens up. “Whatever it is you’re doing, don’t let it continue to affect your game.”</p><p>“I know, <em>Kevin</em>,” he sings back, his voice sickly sweet. “Thank you for the reminder that my fuck-ups weigh heavily on my chance of survival.”</p><p>Kevin’s mask falters once again and if Nathaniel wasn’t so overrun with his own emotions he would’ve taken greater satisfaction is seeing Kevin crumble under his words. “I didn’t mean—” Kevin looks over his shoulder at his partner. “Jean, tell him—“</p><p>Nathaniel doesn’t give Kevin a chance to say anything more. Without casting a second glance at the scatter of bills spread across the floor, Nathaniel stalks out of the locker room.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello, hello. Another test completed, another chapter posted. This kind of marks the beginning of the story. There was about a two year time jump. Nathaniel is roughly 16-17 right now. Jean, Kevin, Riko, &amp; the monsters are freshmen in college, so I kinda played with the ages a bit but like role with it. It's for the plot.</p><p>Also, this chapter ends with a bit of ambiguity that will slowly be explained~ haha. The next chapter touches on it a bit more. </p><p>But this is unedited, so lmk if you catch any mistakes. Also let me know how you like it! I appreciate comments, kudos, reads, anything. Hope yall enjoy!</p><p>Also thanks so much to faeriejk for helping me figure out how to use italics on here!!</p><p>-orth</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Going Under</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nathaniel doesn’t eat dinner tonight either. At least not with the Ravens. </p><p>He always feels guilty leaving Jean alone with the other Ravens when he has an assignment. Jean assures him it’s fine and there’s nothing he can do. It’s not like Nathaniel can refuse these requests. They both know that. </p><p>When Nathaniel reaches the East Tower, Ichirou isn’t alone. His breath catches when he spots Lola behind him. He only hesitates for half a second before continuing forward, but Lola still saw it. She grins at him.</p><p>“Daddy couldn’t make it. He sends his regards, though, and says to behave.”</p><p>Nathaniel swallows the lump in his throat, ignoring Lola and focusing his attention on Ichirou. It was here in this room about two years ago that he first met the eldest son. Since then Nathaniel has learned a lot about the Moriyamas and their plans and where he fits into it all. His presence isn’t absolutely necessary to ensure their cause, but he is very useful, and that’s where he needs to be. That’s where he <em>wants</em> to be. Inconspicuous yet resourceful. Invisible almost.</p><p>Exy isn’t enough. He is still in high school. Wouldn’t be on Court for another five or six years. Whatever was left of the $10 million his mother stole from the Moriyamas was never found. Nathaniel had paid for that, as well. Of course, not in the literal sense. Mistakes in his life were met with a different sort of consequence. That was until the Moriyamas decided he could be of use elsewhere, could pay off the money his mother stole sooner rather than later. </p><p>While on the run, Nathaniel had inevitably learned lots of languages. He was always a quick study, quicker than his mother. They’d spent some time in Europe to avoid his father’s hold in the states. Traveling from country to country and squatting in the places they did allow for exposure to all sorts of languages. For some, he still remembered basic phrases, for others he remembered a lot more.</p><p>When the Moriyamas learned of this, they had him continue to study languages during his time at the Nest. He was already taking high school classes online he could say he officially graduated before playing college Exy for the Ravens. They had him studying Japanese—the reason for that being rather obvious—and Russian. </p><p>Nathaniel and his mother had stayed throughout a few countries in Eastern Europe. He understood the basics. Nathaniel had wondered why they were having him improve his Russian until the night he was called up to the tower almost a year ago. </p><p>“<em>We’re working with the Ostrovskys to reach an…agreement</em>,” Ichirou had said. He had a file of papers in his left hand. He held it out for Nathaniel to take. All the dots rapidly began connecting for Nathaniel. He didn’t have to ask Ichiro who they were. “<em>Dealings are going well, but my father thinks they could use a little…persuasion.</em>”</p><p>Nathaniel’s first reaction had been dread, and then he felt nauseous at the implication of Ichiro’s words. And then he nearly laughed because <em>of course</em>, this is what they needed him for. <em>Of course</em>, this is how he’s supposed to show his usefulness. </p><p>Ichirou told him all of this with calm, clear eyes, awaiting his reaction. So, Nathaniel pressed down his panic, grabbed the file of papers, and walked out of the room. A week later he was called up again. He was sent to a club. It was a large speakeasy bar in downtown. He met two Russians there. Nothing happened. They talked a little bit about the negotiations—Nathaniel was able to contribute due to the limited information he was given—, the states, the city. They drank—the Ostrovskys, not Nathaniel, though they offered. After a few hours, though, the Russians left and his driver picked him up. </p><p>It began to be a pattern. They weren’t in town all the time. There would be a period of a few weeks or months in which they would be gone. When they were in town, he was called up to the tower, dolled up, and sent off to the club. It wasn’t the same two all the time. There was another man one of them would swap out with, but it was always only two. They just chatted, drank, laughed, and Nathaniel sat there and was friendly. He was beginning to wonder what the point was, but he didn’t dare voice it aloud. Nathaniel did what he was told and then returned to the Nest. It was only talking. </p><p>That was until it wasn’t. </p><p>The third man, the one who wasn’t present at the very first meeting, reached out to Nathaniel one night. They were sitting at their usual table. There was the low noise of the background chatter and the jazz music they played throughout. Nathaniel’s glass of whiskey sat untouched in front of them. The man, Sasha was his name, short of Alexander, had requested that Nathaniel drink with them tonight. He thought they were celebrating something. The deal with the Moriyamas possibly? Maybe these meetings would soon be over then? </p><p>He was lost in his own thoughts, half-listening to the Russians who were tipsy and joking with one another. When he saw the hand approaching him out of the corner of his eye, his initial reaction was to jerk away. The legs of his high top chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stumbled away, eyes wide. When he’d realized what he did, a hot flush spread across his cheeks and he choked out an apology. </p><p>Sasha just stared at him, then laughed and said something in Russian to his partner, too quick for Nathaniel to understand. The man sent Sasha a look that could be considered somewhat reproachful. Nathaniel forced himself to sit back down. He tried to be as discrete as possible when scooting his chair over so that he was just out of arms reach. There were still attempts—a casual hand resting on the back of his chair, the brush of knuckles as his glass was being handed to him, a hand briefly touching the chair cushion next to his thigh. Nathaniel tried to avoid them while still being polite and inconspicuous. He thought maybe Sasha would get the hint and back off. </p><p>Unfortunately, like most people involved in the mafia, they were used to getting what they wanted.<br/>
After a few late-night meetings, straying hands, and insistent rejections, Nathaniel was dragged away after practice to be sent on another late-night rendezvous. Lola was the one to drop him off this time around. Nathaniel remembers her snagging his jaw before he could get out of the car, forcing him to look at her. That’s when she told him they knew all about the handsy Russian and Nathaniel rejecting his advances. Lola hissed and spat at him, telling him not to mess up this deal because he was acting too high and mighty. </p><p>“<em>If he wants to touch</em>,” she had told him, “<em>you sit still and let him touch</em>.”</p><p>Nathaniel didn’t listen to her. He could handle the beatings that would follow his disobedience. Except the next time, they brought Jean up to the tower with him. Nathaniel understood the message. The next time he didn’t push away the suggestive touches. </p><p>He returned to the tower tired and drained, in more ways that one. Ichirou regarded him with a somewhat pleased expression. The difference was minute, but Nathaniel saw it as he knew Ichirou knew what had happened, what had <em>been happening</em>.</p><p>After that night, the Ostrovskys had left the states for a few weeks. His tasks became less frequent and consisted of translating documents. The Moriyamas had other people for this. Nathaniel just thinks they like to watch him squirm as he tries to figure out if they called him for a meeting with the Ostrovskys or some other reason. </p><p>The Russians returned yesterday, or at least that’s when he first saw them. Sasha wasn’t there. Instead, an older, stone-faced man by the name Dmitri took his place. He was one of the men Nathaniel met upon his initial meeting with the Ostrovskys all those months ago.</p><p>Now, standing in the common room of the East Tower, Nathaniel allows himself to think that maybe Sasha won’t be with them again tonight. But deep down he knows he won’t be lucky twice. </p><p>“What happened to your face?” Ichirou asks, pushing himself off the couch and crossing the room.</p><p>“Just a rough scrimmage. I’m fine,” Nathaniel responds, turning his face away. </p><p>“Don’t worry about that,” Lola chimes in. “We can doll him up and cover the bruises if we need to, but personally, I think he looks better with them showing. They really bring out the color of his eyes.”</p><p>Nathaniel grits his teeth, knowing she was just trying to get a rise out of him. He kept his gain trained on Ichirou, who was now only a few steps away. </p><p>“Quiet,” Ichirou snaps, irritation flitting through his eyes. “I won’t take any more of your babbling nonsense.”</p><p>Lola falls quiet where she stands against the bar. Ichirou’s gaze rakes over Nathaniel’s face before saying, “We reached an agreement with the Ostrovskys. There are still some small elements to be negotiating, but it will be official in the next few weeks.”</p><p>Nathaniel wills himself to stay still, despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. This is good news. For the Moriyamas and the Ostrovskys. He’s the odd one out. </p><p>He swallows his panic. “Congratulations,” he rasps.</p><p>“Thank you,” Ichirou replies. He casually strolls back over to where he was sitting. At the coffee table sits two tumblers. He slowly fills both with alcohol. The room fills with bated silence.</p><p>“Sir,” Nathaniel ventures as Ichirou turns back to him. “If the dealings are complete, then why am I here?”</p><p>The young Moriyama lord approaches Nathaniel once more, hands out a glass of amber liquid and says, “We’re celebrating.”</p><p>Nathaniel recognizes the double meaning. They’re celebrating. They’re <em>all</em> celebrating. Nathaniel is part of the celebration. </p><p>As soon as his fingers make contact with the cool glass, he’s tossing it all back in one gulp, savoring the way it burns all the way down his throat. </p><p>*****</p><p>Nathaniel stares at himself in the mirror. </p><p>Upon first glance, he sees electric blue eyes, fiery red hair, naturally sun-kissed skin despite being exposed to little sun during his time at the Nest. His brows, slightly darker than his hair, arch finely over his almond eyes. His jaw, strong and symmetrical; cheekbones high and sharp; lips full, he supposed.</p><p>He doesn’t know how an attractive person is supposed to look ideally. He’s never bothered looking because frankly, he’s not interested. In anyone or anything. But he hears the taunts and compliments alike say all sorts of things, like “pretty boy” or “baby blue” or “little red riding hood.” He hates all of it, but his features seem to be a topic of choice for praise and prods. So, Nathaniel doesn’t know if he’s attractive, not really. He knows that people seem to be interested in him for his looks. </p><p>It’s ironic really, that other people want him for how he looks and he wants nothing to do with how he looks. He hates his features. They remind Nathaniel of <em>him</em>. </p><p>There are slight differences, of course. His jaw is not as square. His nose is not as prominent, softer and is smaller. His face is more angular. Eyebrows thinner. Hair a bit lighter. If he looks close enough he can see bits of his mother mixed in. </p><p>His hands clench from where they grab the marble countertop. Why couldn’t he have taken more after his mother? Maybe then he’d be able to look into the mirror without flinching or feeling a wave of disgust roll up from the depths of his stomach, without hating himself. </p><p>Nathaniel cocks his head, watches as his reflection does the same. </p><p><em>No, probably not</em>, he thinks. <em>That’s not enough</em>. </p><p>And if he looks really close, he can see the vibrancy of his features is all just a lie. Underneath it all, he’s just dreary and depleted. </p><p>Nathaniel tries to smile in the mirror. His muscles flinch and quiver, as if they’re not used to such movement. He ignores the trembling of his hands, grips them tighter against the counter until his knuckles are white, and tries again. Better, it’s better. </p><p><em>They don’t care if you can smile</em>, Mary hisses in his ear. <em>You know what they want. You brought this on yourself, Nathaniel</em>. </p><p>He grits his teeth and steals one last glance at himself before pushing away from the mirror and stuffing the makeup product back into the pouch. Shortly after Ichirou’s announcement of the deal, Lola drove Nathaniel to flat purchased by the Moriyamas downtown. It was a spacious studio apartment that was on the top floor of one of the mid-range apartments. Definitely nothing extremely fancy, but that wasn’t the point. It was supposed to blend in. Although Ichirou didn’t tell him they had purchased this apartment specifically for Nathaniel’s late-night tasks, he had a suspicion that’s what it was acquired for. The thought of that alone was enough to make Nathaniel feel sick to his stomach. </p><p>They knew from the beginning. He knew he couldn’t trust them. He knew. Yet this was just another harsh reminder of the world he was born into and the people that lived in it. </p><p>“Are you almost done in there!?” Lola’s voice hollers through the wooden door.</p><p>Nathaniel works his jaw. “Just a minute! It’s not like I’m going to be late!”</p><p>The Raven’s 16-hours days really fucked up their interaction with the outside world. Sometimes the timing matched up well, sometimes he had to wait several hours, and sometimes he was immediately pulled out right after waking up to be sent out into the late evening. It was odd. Almost unreal to skip from one world to the next. He felt as if he was being spun on an axis every time he stepped foot inside and outside the nest. </p><p>Today when he had been called up to the tower, it was barely four in the afternoon. The club didn’t open until eight. He had plenty of time. </p><p>“Well, Junior maybe I want you to put on a little private show for me. You know, before the Russian gets you,” she sings. </p><p>Nathaniel shoves the now-closed makeup bag into the drawer and slams it shut. Lola had offered to help him cover up the bruise, but he refused to let her and anyone else near his face. After the first few times Lola or Ichirou’s people applied makeup onto his skin, be began to experiment with it himself, more out of the desire to not let anyone else do the job rather than pure curiosity or interest.</p><p>When Nathaniel wrenches open the door, Lola is standing in the kitchen sifting through the cabinet.</p><p>“Oh-ho,” she says as she turns, two bottles of wine in her hands. She wiggles them in her hands. “How nice. Lord Moriyama got you two something to drink for later.”</p><p>Nathaniel growls and stalks towards the bedroom. It was a bed in the corner of the apartment, one wall entirely missing, leaving the room open to see from nearly any other position in the apartment. The lack of privacy here was obvious. Nathaniel wondered if they had this place bugged.</p><p>“Put that back,” he tells her, shucking off his t-shirt we put on after his shower and replacing it with the button down top he was given for the night. His sweats soon followed. </p><p>“Oh, come on. How ‘bout we pop it open and begin the celebration now,” she says suggestively, her voice getting too close for his liking. </p><p>Nathaniel finishes zipping up his slacks and spins around. Lola is already there. Her hand holding the alcohol comes up to push at his chest. He knocks it aside and the bottle of unopened wine falls onto the comforter. Her leg hooks behind his own, forcing him backward. He tries to use her momentum to twist them around, but the feeling of something cold and smooth pressing against his neck stops him short. He lands on the mattress on his back, Lola looming above him. In his right hand he holds a small pair of grooming scissors close to her jugular. For a moment, the two just stare at each other, each frozen by the near threat. Then Lola laughs. </p><p>“Well, not bad there. Looks like you still have some fight left in you.”</p><p>“Get off me,” he grits out. </p><p>She leans in closer so her breath is caressing his ear. He presses the scissors closer to her neck, drawing a thin cut on the most vulnerable spot on her neck. He knows if he digs a few centimeters deeper, she’ll be bleeding out over the fancy silk sheets. </p><p>“You won’t do it,” she whispers. He fights the urge to cringe away, focusing on his immediate target. </p><p>“Neither will you.”</p><p>She laughs. “Is this how you’re going to treat the Russian? With a knife to the throat? I don’t think the Moriyamas will be happy with you if you do.”</p><p>Without thinking, Nathaniel jerks the scissors upward, driving the tip into the edge of her jaw right below her ear, not deep enough to serious maim, but enough to hurt. If he’s lucky, it’ll scar. </p><p>As intended, Lola hisses and jerks back. Nathaniel reaches up with his other hand to secure the knife and bring his foot up to kick her back. He rolls to stand on the other side of the bed and looks up to find her glaring at him, her teeth bared. </p><p>“You forget your place, Junior. I think it’s time I remind you.”</p><p>Nathaniel stands strong, pushing away the images of Lola’s wide grin and the basement and bloody knives. “You can’t <em>touch</em> me. I don’t think the Moriyamas will be happy with you if you do,” he parrots viciously. </p><p>Lola takes a step towards the end of the bed. She’s closest to the exit of the bedroom. Nathaniel’s back faces the wall. </p><p>“You think you’re so smart,” she says, voice patronizing as she eyes him down. “What’s going to happen when the Moriyamas don’t need you to be their call boy anymore? They won’t care what happens to you as long as you can still play. And you don’t need a pretty face to play Exy. I remember these moments and as soon as they turn their back on you, I’ll be there. And so will your father.”</p><p>Nathaniel snarls are her. “You’ll never hurt me again,” he says. He doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince more. </p><p>Lola sees right through him. “That’s not your decision to make.”</p><p>Her expression has calmed slightly, telling Nathaniel she has him exactly where she wants him. He never thought he would wish to be back at the Nest, but right now he feels the need to be on the court and run until he couldn’t breathe, until he couldn’t remember his name or anything at all. It was always so much simpler out on the court. There was only Exy. </p><p>“You could have been so much more Nathaniel. Your father and I were training you well, but then that bitch stole you away. You’ve always taken after her, even though you look more like your father.” Her smile is slimy. The blood from the cut trails down her neck in thin lines. “In life, you’re either the Butcher or the Bitch.” She laughs and her pale green eyes lock onto his. “And we both know which you’re going to be tonight.”</p><p>His skin feels like it’s stripping away from his body, curling up and shedding onto the floor. He tries to ignore her words, knowing she tries to get under your skin verbally before doing so with knives. But she can only do the former right now. She’s not allowed to hurt him. At least not now. </p><p>“You know, I don’t really understand why you’re preaching to me about my position when you’re in the exact same spot as I am,” he spews cruelly, an unnatural smile making its way across his face. “At least I have Exy. What do you have going for yourself once my father decides he’s bored of you? If you think you’re the only person who can cut open and hurt people, you’re wrong. You’re expendable, even more so than me. Enjoy your time while you can Lola. My father had been preoccupied hunting down me and my mother, but now that that’s resolved, I’m sure he’ll be looking for a new target to channel his anger.”</p><p>Lola’s face is steadily turning darker and darker, becoming closer to matching her blood-red lips and nails. “You—“</p><p>Nathaniel pushes forward, feeling particularly vicious. He wants to hurt her, in any way possible, to pay her back for all the years of pain she’s caused him. </p><p>“Has he been calling you to his bed less frequently? He’s probably found another woman. For some reason, he’s never been the family-man type. He always pushes people away, and we both know how it turns out for those people.”</p><p>The <em>dead or imprisoned</em> statement goes unsaid, but Lola knows what he’s implying. </p><p>“If you think I’m anything like <em>that bitch</em>—,” she rages, claws and fangs out. </p><p>“<em>You’re nothing like her!</em>” Nathaniel seethes. “You’re worse, but when you die I’ll still cry. Tears of joy. It’ll be the best day of my life—“</p><p>Lola lets out an inarticulate cry of rage and raises her hand. There’s a glint of something and Nathaniel is stepping to the side just in time to avoid the knife she threw. With a dull thunk, the blade sinks into the wall, sticking straight out. </p><p>Nathaniel watches it tremble back and forth before becoming still. He turns back to Lola, who’s breathing is still haggard. She’s looking at him with so much hatred that a deep part of Nathaniel tells him to hide and cower, but he relishes this moment in which she can’t touch him. Ichirou’s orders. Right now, Nathaniel is more important than she is, and he takes advantage of it, not caring about the later pain it may bring. He needs to get <em>something</em> out of this. </p><p>“I’ll enjoy carving that tongue out of your mouth when your father gives me the chance.”</p><p>Nathaniel lowers his chin, eyelids lowering as he looks her dead in the eye. He feels unhinged, but he doesn’t try to reign himself back in. “I’d like to see you try.”</p><p>*****</p><p>Sasha is here. </p><p>Nathaniel knew he would be here, but seeing him actually <em>here</em> is different. His heart feels like it’s in a too-small cage. Even brush against his skin or loud noise causes him to jerk in his chair. He feels too hot and itchy in his iron-pressed button-up and slacks. The speakeasy seems more crowded and lively than usual tonight. Looks like other people are celebrating, as well. Whatever it is, Nathaniel hopes they’re having a better time than him—not that he really cares, but thinking about anything other than his current situation is the only way he’s going to be able to get through the night. </p><p>“Another drink?” A voice murmurs in his ear, a hand coming down to rest on his thigh along with it. </p><p>Nathaniel jerks his head around, pulling his gaze away from the crowd below the balcony. Sasha is leaning over so that his face is only a couple inches away from Nathaniel’s. He’s smirking, but he always seems to be. He has that confident, cocky demeanor most people in positions of high power have. They think they’re untouchable and can take and do what they want without a care. Some people don’t show it as much, like Ichirou and the Master, until you intently defy them. Some people wear it like it’s their second skin. At the end of the day, they’re all the same. They make the calls and you follow them or else there will be pain to pay. </p><p>It takes Nathaniel a second to realize he had been spoken to in Russian, not English. “Hmm?” </p><p>Sasha’s lips curl up even higher and his eyes scant towards the table. “Your drink. Do you want another?”</p><p>Nathaniel looks at his glass. It’s empty. He hadn’t even realized he’d been drinking it. Was this is second or third glass? He doesn’t know or care. He needed a distraction, so when Sasha offered him alcohol, he didn’t turn it away this time. </p><p>“Uh, yes,” he says back in Russian, adding a “Thank you” at the end. </p><p>“My pleasure,” Sasha hums, pouring him another generous amount of alcohol into his glass. </p><p>Nathaniel’s gaze drifts back to the crowd. Like always, the Ostrovskys and Nathaniel are in a private booth resting in the balcony the overlooks the rest of the speakeasy. It’s a sort of unofficial VIP section. Few people are up here, and if they are, Nathaniel can tell just by looking at them that they’re not your everyday citizen. Even so, there’s enough space between every table to give each party their own privacy. Upon his first visit here, Nathaniel caught on that this wasn’t your normal speakeasy. They always met up here to avoid others overhearing their conversation. Not that anyone would be able to understand considering most of it was spoken in Russian, but that very fact could draw some attention. People up here in the lounge weren’t likely to ask those sorts of questions. What happened up here stayed up here. </p><p>“You seem awfully distracted tonight,” Sasha says, pulling Nathaniels gaze back away from the crowd. </p><p>“No, no,” Nathaniel tries to deny, turning his body more fully towards Sasha. “I’m just—“ He falters, not sure of what to say. His brain feels scrambled, and he doesn’t think it’s entirely because of the alcohol. </p><p>Luckily, Sasha seems to be in a good mood tonight. They all are. Dmitri and the other Russian, Danill, are here tonight. The four of them are sitting in a booth rather than their typical high-top table. The booth offers little separation of space, not like the individual chairs at the table do. Sasha is sitting so close that Nathaniel can feel his body heat. The back of the leather booth is high,  making the booth into its own little private cove. </p><p>Sasha laughs. “No need to be nervous,” Sasha assures him. The hand still on Nathaniel’s thigh runs a trail up and back down, in a touch that he thinks is meant to be comforting. Instead, it makes his skin crawl. “We’re here to celebrate tonight.”</p><p>Nathaniel gulps and gives him a shaky smile. He tries to hide the tremble in his hand as he reached out to grasp his glass. The hand on his thigh feels like a hot iron being pressed into his skin. </p><p>“Nathaniel, I’ve heard the Ravens’ season is going well,” Dmitri says. </p><p>Nathaniel’s nearly lets out a sigh of relief, grateful for Dmitri’s intervention and the change in topic. Nathaniel knows Danill and Dmitri don’t exactly approve of Sasha’s flirtations with Nathaniel, but at the end of the day, they still let him get away with it. </p><p>“Ah, yes. The Master trains us well. We’ve all worked very hard to get where we’re at,” he says, choosing his words carefully. He tilts his glass, watching the amber liquid swish around. “No one else deserves the title of best D1 Exy program as much as we do.”</p><p>
  <em>Lie. The Trojans are the better option. But all people care about are the results, no matter what it takes to get there.</em>
</p><p>“The championship game is coming up, isn’t it? You think the Ravens will win?” Dmitri asks, sipping his own drink.</p><p>“We’ll win,” Nathaniel says confidently. That much he knows is the truth. </p><p>“Such confidence,” Danill chortles. He’s smoking a cigar, causing smoke to waft across the area they’re sitting in. Neither Dmitri nor Sasha mind. Nathaniel knows they both smoke cigars, as well. But Nathaniel feels uneasy, smelling something he’s so used to associating with his mother in his current circumstance. The smell of smoke used to bring on a sense of comfort. As it invades his senses now, all he feels is deep unease. </p><p>Nathaniel shrugs, taking another sip of his drink. “We’re trained to win and nothing else.”</p><p>Sasha’s hand briefly tightens on Nathaniel’s thigh and he freezes. “Then we have twice the reason to celebrate tonight,” the Russian announces, white teeth flashing. “For the agreement reached between the Ostrovskys and the Moriyama and for the success of Nathaniel’s team.”</p><p><em>Nathaniel’s</em> team, not the Ravens. He has half the mind to say he’s not really on the team yet, considering he’s still technically in high school, but he knows better than to contradict them, even in the slightest. He wonders if they knew he wasn’t in college yet. It probably didn’t matter to them, anyways. </p><p>Sasha flags down a wandering waiter and removes his arm from Nathaniel’s thigh to rest it on the back of the booth behind Nathaniel’s head, leaning over him to speak to the waiter.</p><p>“We’ll take your finest bottle of wine.”</p><p>Nathaniel wonders what the waiter thinks when he sees Nathaniel cowering back against the booth, in the company of three older men. Whatever the waiter is thinking doesn’t show on his face because he simply nods and walks away. As he said, people don’t ask questions up here. You can get away with almost anything. After the waiter leaves, Sasha’s hand falls back to rest on Nathaniel’s leg, his entire palm spanning the top of his thigh. </p><p>When the waiter brings back the bottle, Sasha immediately begins to fill Nathaniel’s glass, which is, again, somehow empty. Did he drink that already? </p><p>Nathaniel squirms, not trusting himself to drink any more. “Sasha,” Nathaniel says, knowing the older man likes it when he calls him by his name. “You really don’t have to—“</p><p>“I insist,” Sasha presses. He dips his head down so it’s in Nathaniel’s personal space again. Nathaniel knows better than to pull away. “I want to treat you tonight,” the Russian whispers in his ear, following the words with another squeeze to his thigh, this one much firmer, intentional. Sasha’s eyes stay locked onto Nathaniel’s and the younger boy spots the desire deep with the Russian’s eyes. He knows how Sasha expects this night to end. </p><p>Nathaniel gives him a tight smile and picks up his glass. </p><p>The four of them chat for another hour or two. Danill and Dmitri loosen up as the night progresses, the many glasses of wine and whiskey surely helping with that. The entire time Sasha’s hand stays on Nathaniel. Usually on his thigh, but sometimes straying to his waist or his back. He grows bolder as the night goes on, but Nathaniel thinks the alcohol has little to do with it. </p><p>Nathaniel pipes in when addressed. In reality, while he knew some bits about the deal between the Ostrovskys and the Moriyamas, he was primarily left out of the inner workings of the agreement. They could still talk about some things related to the deal, however, and sometimes the Russians accidentally disclosed more than Nathaniel knew without realizing it. He stored away the information for later, still not quite able to piece it all together. </p><p>Right when Nathaniel feels as if he could take a nap from the drowsiness caused by the alcohol and the lack of sleep he’d been getting the past two nights, the men decide it is time to take their leave. And just like that, Nathaniel is more awake than ever.</p><p>When the four of them step outside into the night, Nathaniel’s eyes immediately water. He tells himself it’s solely from the winter chill, and that is has nothing to do with the fact that he’s inviting this man back to the apartment. He stumbles slightly and rests against the brick wall of the building. He probably drank too much alcohol, but he doesn’t regret it.</p><p>Sasha is in front of Nathaniel, facing Danill and Dmitri. Sasha says something in Russian, hushed and quickly enough that Nathaniel can't make it out. Danill sighs deeply and then looks past Sasha to regard Nathaniel. The redhead hopes he doesn’t look as pitifully standing there against the brick exterior as he feels. Dmitri responds to Sasha in rapid Russian before the two older men turn away to enter the black car that is parked against the curb. Sasha stays behind. Nathaniel’s heart drops so quickly he chokes for air. There’s a new sort of chill seeping through his bones. He stuffs his hands into his coat pockets so Sasha can’t see them trembling when he turns around. The older man smiles at Nathaniel. </p><p>He’s handsome, Nathaniel supposed. He has dark blonde hair, steel grey eyes, a nice physique, a square jaw covered in stubble. He’s nearly a good foot taller than Nathaniel. Probably has a good fifteen or twenty years on him too. It could be worse. </p><p>Sasha offers his hand to Nathaniel, palm faced up. He regards the calloused hand, knowing exactly what it means if he takes it. Then again, he doesn’t really have a choice anyway. Nathaniel untucks his right hand from his pocket—it’s still trembling—and places it in Sasha’s palm. </p><p>He doesn’t really know how Sasha knows where to go, but within twenty minutes they’re standing outside the apartment building Nathaniel was at earlier. He keeps his head down, trying not to outwardly panic, or at least not let Sasha see. The last time Nathaniel publicly acting out, word got back to Ichirou, and Jean was brought up to the tower. </p><p>The ding of the elevator causes him to jump and look up. Sasha squeezes his hand. The blonde young woman coming out of the elevator looks at him strangely. Nathaniel ducks his head again.<br/>
They make it to the apartment door. Before Nathaniel can make a move to open it, he sees Sasha pull out a key from his own pocket and unlock the door. Nathaniel should feel a wave of white-hot rage rush through him. <em>They gave him a key</em>. But all he feels in deep-set panic and rising nauseous. </p><p>Sasha takes off his coat and drapes it over the edge of the couch. Removes his shoes. Nathaniel is stuck in the doorway, frozen. He feels like he’s watching a scene through a TV, or like this is a dream. He feels removed from reality. </p><p>Sasha, sensing his hesitance, turns back around. He holds out his palm again and says, “Come here,” in a calm voice. It’s not meant to be reassuring. It’s the type of calm that comes from a person who knows he can get what he wants with little struggle. </p><p>Now more than ever Nathaniel decides that he hates himself. His entire life has consisted of fighting for himself and here he is about to hand himself over to a man who simply holds out his hand and waits. </p><p>He doesn’t know when he crossed the room, but he’s suddenly right in front of the older man. Sasha grabs his wrist with a hum, his other hand smoothing up Nathaniel’s cheek and into his hair as he walks the two of them towards the bedroom. Nathaniel notes that his entire palm nearly covers the side of his face.</p><p>The bubbling panic bursts through his alcohol-induced haze as soon as he feels the back of the bed hit his knees. He turns his face to the side, looking over Sasha’s shoulder at the door. His breath recedes and the cage is back around his heart. He tries to twist his wrist out of Sasha’s grasp. </p><p>“Wait—,” he chokes. “Wait, I can’t—I don’t want—“</p><p>“Shhh,” Sasha murmurs against the side of his face, his lips brushing Nathaniel’s cheekbone. His hands shift so one wraps around his waist, pressing Nathaniel’s quivering limbs to his sides. Sasha’s other hand rests inside the collar of Nathaniel’s shirt, craftily undoing the buttons. “Just sit back and let me take care of you.”</p><p>Nathaniel’s arms are stuck against his sides and his chest feels like it’s collapsing. “No, <em>no</em>. I want to—“</p><p>Sasha’s lips seal over his, stealing his oxygen, and Nathaniel is floating up and up until he finally drifts off and goes somewhere else.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello! It's been a week since I last updated and that's because things have been crazy with school, but I did it! I posted. This one is slightly longer than the previous ones have been (I feel like each chapter will keep growing &amp; I will create a monster). Anywho! sensitive topics in here. Just as a disclaimer, and the tags hint at it too, this story is kinda dark. Neil's life in canon is by no means a fairytale, but I'm exploring new themes in this story that aren't in canon (if you hadn't noticed).<br/>Also! I don't know it this is canonically correct, but I've just decided that the 16 hours days the Ravens run by are as follows:<br/>Day 1 - 12am to 6 pm<br/>Day 2 - 6pm to 12pm<br/>Day 3 - 12 pm to 6am<br/>Day 4 - 6am to 12am<br/>So every 4 days it repeats. This chapter takes place in day 4 (Raven's schedule). Yeah, so I hope that makes sense.<br/>&amp; since this past week has been crazy, I wrote this chapter during many writing sessions, so if it seems choppy, that's why. Also, as always, unedited. lol if you and myself catch anything, I will try to change it.<br/>As always, let me know how you liked it and leave a kudos, comment, bookmark it, whatever. Any form of interaction is appreciated! Thanks yall!<br/>-orth</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. I Hate What I See</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nathaniel wakes up to the bed moving. </p><p>His eyes snap open and his body is twisting before he’s even aware that he’s truly awake. A spike of pain travels up his spine as a large hand grabs his forearm, stopping his momentum. Nathaniel feels an added weight on the bed behind him. He blinks, trying to clear the haze clouding his mind. Bubbling panic races through his bones as he stares blankly at the wall in front of him, willing his lungs to work.</p><p>
  <em>His father. It’s his father. He’s here.</em>
</p><p>The hand squeezes his forearm in warning and Nathaniel goes still. </p><p>
  <em>If I freeze they can’t see me. If I freeze it won’t hurt as bad.</em>
</p><p>The hand lets go of his arm and Nathaniel’s chest collapses. </p><p>“Good morning,” a voice says gruffly. It takes Nathaniel’s panic-clouded mind a moment to realize the words were spoken in Russian. He freezes again before whipping around in bed, the sheets tangling around his waist. </p><p>Sasha is a few feet away, turning around to look for his clothes that were discarded the night before. The large eight-pointed star tattoo on his upper back shifts as he tugs on his underwear, then his pants. Nathaniel’s hands clench tightly in the sheets as his brain catches up to everything—where he’s at and what happened last night. The sheets suddenly feel dirtier—he does too. He wants to jump out of bed and race to the showers, but he doesn’t move as Sasha finishes dressing. </p><p>“I have somewhere to be,” Sasha tells him as he finishes buttoning up his shirt. </p><p>Nathaniel flinches as the Russian turns around to face him. Seeing him the following morning, in broad daylight, without the alcoholic daze, Sasha appears much more stern, like the mafia member he is. Nathaniel reminds himself that Sasha’s already gotten what he wanted. He doesn’t need to lay on the charming facade anymore. </p><p>Nathaniel doesn’t respond, just carefully tracks Sasha’s movement from his spot on the bed. He tries to hide the slight tremble that seems to be growing in intensity throughout his body. </p><p>When Sasha finishes knotting his tie, he leans down across the bed once again, bracing his hand on Nathaniel’s sheet-covered thigh for balance. Nevertheless, his skin burns unpleasantly at the contact. It takes him a second to realize what Sasha’s wants, but it becomes rather obvious as the older man continues to advance into Nathaniel’s personal space. </p><p>He jerks back, ripping his leg out from under Sasha’s grip. His body screams at the sudden movement, and he lets out a little involuntary gasp. Once he realizes what he’s done, he stops short. </p><p>“I’m—I’m sorry—,” he rasps, fumbling over his words. He realizes a second later that he spoke in English, not Russian. </p><p>Sasha, though, only smiles and slowly pulls back. It’s not a comforting smile, but Sasha’s hand only brushes over Nathaniel’s foot before he stands up straight and exits the bedroom. Nathaniel doesn’t allow himself to exhale until he hears the apartment door open and close. </p><p>Nathaniel doesn’t know how long he stays in bed after Sasha leaves. Once he does get up, he stumbles into the bathroom, wincing at the pain that lingers in his lower back. He doesn’t allow himself to think about how Exy practice will go with his legs being as wobbly and uncoordinated as they are now. He tells himself it’ll all wear off by then and he’ll be fine. If anything, he’ll just take some Tylenol or something. </p><p>He pauses, pondering something, allowing his thoughts to cross over yet again into dangerous territory that’s only going to light a fire under what he’s already feeling. </p><p>Bracing himself over the sink—as supporting his full weight is rather uncomfortable at the moment—Nathaniel reaches out towards the mirror. He opens the medicine cabinet more out of curiosity than anything. He spots the bottle of ibuprofen, sitting alone in the very middle of the cabinet. The fire catches and he snarls, violently swiping the bottle aside. He barely flinches as it rattles upon hitting the floor. </p><p>Out of spite, Nathaniel refuses to take any. He doesn’t even look at the bottle. He quickly takes a shower without sparring a look at his body and changes into a fresh pair of clothes located in the bedroom dresser. His foot kicks something at the base of the dresser. Sitting on the floor is a silver rectangular lighter. His first thought is that Sasha must’ve dropped it. Nathaniel slowly bends up to pick it up, flicks the top off, brings his thumb down, watches the blue flame. He stares at it for a moment before flipping the cap shut and shoving it in his pocket. </p><p>Nathaniel then leaves the apartment, not bothering to clean anything up or lock the door. On the way down, the same girl from the night before crosses his path. He ducks his head again and strides past her, but he still sees the concerned and somewhat startled look on her face, telling himself that he wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions at that moment as he’d hoped. </p><p>He grits his teeth until his jaw aches just as must as the rest of him. He forces himself to take the stairs, ignores the fact that it takes him twice as long as it should, and tries to forget the past twelve hours ever happened.</p><p>*****</p><p>Nathaniel doesn’t really think about the exact time until he gets in the car outside the apartment. The clock reads a bit before six in the morning. Nathaniel remembers it being around two in the morning when they arrived at the apartment. Getting less than four hours of sleep—really three considering…well, considering what happened when they first set foot in the flat—it wasn’t surprising. Nathaniel never slept well or for long periods of time, especially when surrounded by unfamiliar people and being in an unfamiliar place. It was a miracle he fell asleep at all. He knew he wasn’t taking proper care of his body. He navigates the Nest with bone-deep exhaustion that seems permanent at this point. He can survive a few days without food or rest every once in a while. He did it while on the run and he’s still standing. Although, maybe that isn’t for the best. </p><p>When Nathaniel arrives back at the Nest, it’s nearly six-thirty in the morning. The Ravens have already started their end-of-the-day scrimmage. He’d missed early morning practice entirely. He knows what to expect walking in. </p><p>The Master greets him as soon as he sets foot in the lower wings where the Ravens operate. He stands tall, despite his cane. His dark suit is pressed to perfection and his expression is one of stony displeasure.</p><p>“Change out,” he orders, voice cold.</p><p>Nathaniel tries to hide his slight limp as he walks past him. As he passes by, the Master’s cane lashes out, hitting Nathaniel hard in the back of his legs, right above his knees. His knees hit the ground hard, knocking the breath out of him and sending another spike of pain up his spine. He bites his lip, muffling his groan. He falls forward, holding himself up with one hand. As soon as he can manage, he pushes himself back up to his feet. </p><p>“If you miss practice again, do not I think will let you go unpunished,” The Master says without turning around to face him. “You are my player, Wesninski. Do not forget that.”</p><p>Nathaniel bites his lip harder to prevent himself from saying something back. He feels like reminding the Master that the people <em>he</em> takes orders from are the ones ordering Nathaniel to do these things would be unproductive at the moment. </p><p>Instead, he grounds out a simple “I understand” and makes his way to the locker room. It’s empty, of course. And there’s no sign of the crumpled dollar bills from the day before. He quickly changes out into his practice uniform, remembering he left his previous days’ clothes at the apartment. Not that it matters with the Ravens’ near-endless supply of Exy gear and uniforms. </p><p>When he steps foot on the court, everyone’s eyes turn to him. Kevin is glaring, his disapproval clear. Jean’s gaze is openly concerned. Nathaniel doesn’t miss the fresh bruise splayed across the side of his face, even hidden underneath the helmet. Riko looks murderous. His goons holler and whistle as Nathaniel makes his way to his spot. </p><p>“How was it, Wesninski?!”</p><p>“Did you get all the freak out of your system?”</p><p>“If not, feel free to come by my room later and show me some of your moves, red!”</p><p>It appears as though Riko’s stunt in the locker room yesterday had the effect that he wanted it to. </p><p>The Master’s cane hitting the wall rang through the court like a gunshot, signaling for the scrimmage to resume. Nathaniel zoned into the game, ignoring the aches and pains through his body. Playing Exy was like muscle memory for more of the Ravens, but unlike Nathaniel, their life didn’t depend on playing this sport well. He lets the pain fuel his anger as he tares through anyone that approached him. With his size, he’s naturally at a disadvantage, but he’s quick on his feet and a fast learner. He plays vicious, but so do the other Ravens. It is their team’s trademark. Nathaniel comes out of the scrimmage with more aches and bruises than he had when he arrived, but he knows he managed to get in some brutal (illegal) hits to some of the other Ravens. </p><p>Riko and Kevin didn’t bother him during the scrimmage—well, no more than usual. And Nathaniel knows better than to think there’s nothing coming. He sticks by his locker as long as he can, trying to wait out the others. They linger and he knows it’s because of him.</p><p>Jean grabs the sleeve of his jersey. “Let’s just go,” he says to Nathaniel in a hushed whisper. “We can sneak back in and shower later.”</p><p>Nathaniel stays rooted in place, staring at the back of his locker with unseeing eyes. His eyes subconsciously glance down at his pile of clothes and the lighter that lies underneath it. </p><p>“Nathaniel,” Jean urges. “Don’t be foolish.”</p><p>Hearing his name acts as a sort of trigger to magnifying everything he’s feeling, like pouring gasoline onto a flame. The most prevalent of those emotions are rage and hatred. Without a second thought, Nathaniel whips his practice jersey off and snags the towel—red and black—from the back of his locker. </p><p>Jean’s eyes widen as they take in Nathaniel’s body. The redhead doesn’t cower under the Frenchman’s gaze. He takes it in and holds it until he’s nearly buzzing with something.</p><p>“<em>Nathaniel</em>,” Jean says again, voice thick with apprehension and incredulity. “You know what they’re going to do—“</p><p>Nathaniel quickly finishes undressing, wraps the towel around his waist, and leaves Jean by their lockers as he heads off to the showers alone. He leaves the lighter behind, deciding not to out himself now. He goes into the showers empty-handed, but he doesn’t need a prop to be dangerous. </p><p>The heavy steam from the running showers hits him as soon as he turns the corner. His eyes do a quick survey of the area and he’s unsurprised to find all of Riko’s typical goons present. Kevin and Riko aren’t there. They must still be by the lockers. </p><p>Nathaniel takes his time walking down the center of the showers before stopping at a shower-head towards the end. He sets his jaw before unwrapping the towel from his waist and draping it over the hook. </p><p>For about thirty seconds, everything is fine. And then the first set of hands grab him. </p><p>Nathaniel lets the anger go, and like the snap of an elastic, he throws his elbow back with all the viciousness he can manage. He feels it connect with flesh and hears the cry of pain that follows. He follows the momentum of his elbow, swinging his body around to face his attackers. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Samson approaching again with a snarl on his face and a darkening bruise developing on his cheek. Another hand latches onto his bicep. Nathaniel brings his knee up, but Johnson redirects it last minute. Nathaniel’s feet slip on the wet tile flooring. Johnson hauls him back up, which is his mistake. Using the arm the backliner has a grip on, Nathaniel quickly drives his elbow into the man’s abdomen before yanking his arm away. Pain blooms in his shoulder at the abrupt movement. </p><p>Arms wrap around his chest, fingers digging into his sides. Nathaniel lets out a gasp of pain as the finger digs into the fresh bruises. He slips and slides against the body pressed against his back, fighting down the sickening feeling rising in his stomach. His arms are glued to his sides. The air in the showers is too thick and humid for him to get a proper lung-full. The sound of water falling down on the tiles in the background reminds him that he’s here, at the Nest, not in the apartment. He tries to pull his arms up through the grip, using their slick skin as an advantage, but his assailant just tightens his grip until Nathaniel’s sure he’s not getting any oxygen. He throws his head back. Hears a crack and a shouted “Fuck!” The arms loosen and Nathaniel pulls away</p><p>He swings around, sensing another person approaching from behind. With his own face contorted into a snarl, he lashes, digging his nails across Engle’s face. He feels the flesh under his fingernails afterward, see the blood streaming down the striker’s face. Nathaniel bares his teeth. But then he’s going down.</p><p>A hand wrapped around his ankle and yanked. He hits the tile hard, head and hip bouncing off the ground. His hit throbs and his head rings. And then he’s being dragged across the floor by his leg. He kicks out with the other leg, hitting Brauner hard enough in the knee to know it hurt. A moment later, Samson is grabbing and immobilizing Nathaniel’s other leg. He goes to sit up, but an arm wraps itself around his shoulders, pulling him back to a chest. </p><p>“You fucking bitch! We’re going to <em>ruin you</em> Wesninski!” Engle snarls. </p><p>His arm keeps hiking up until it’s wrapped tightly around Nathaniel’s throat, forcing his head back. Nathaniel bares his teeth again, eyes flicking to the bloody mess on the side of the striker’s face. “I got you first.” </p><p>And then he swipes out, aiming for the spot right between Engle’s legs that’s within arms reach. Predictably, his hold falters as he howls and bends over. Johnson replaces him, slapping a hand haphazardly over Nathaniel’s face and trying to get a good grip on him with all the steam and water. Nathaniel bites into his hand, not letting go until he tastes blood. </p><p>“Fuck! Someone get a hold of him!”</p><p>“Drown the little shit!”</p><p>He doesn’t get anywhere. Samson and Brauner haul him back across the floor, pulling him deeper into the now empty shower. He screams, more out of rage now than anything. </p><p>And then suddenly there’s something wrapped around his head. He can’t see. He can’t breathe. The showers still rain down in the background. He can hear the Raven's shouting, telling them to tighten it. Brauner and Samson still hold his legs. Another pair of hands is tightening the towel wrapped around his head. Fingers prod at his abdomen. </p><p>Nathaniel gasps for breath, but each time comes up empty. His heart is hammering like a drum in his chest. He begins to struggle, panicked. His hands are quickly snagged and gripped tightly. His lungs burn. It feels as if someone lit fire to them directly. His pounding heart drowns out the falling water and the shouting. </p><p>
  <em>He can’t breathe.</em>
</p><p>He chokes when water comes through the fabric and enters his mouth. It goes down the wrong pipes and he’s coughing. His chest is in agony. And his upper chest and throat feels as if its about to combust any minute. His head is heavy. Nathaniel’s legs twitch and he tries to get out so he can breathe, but Samson and Brauner hold him tighter. The water keeps coming. He thinks he hears them laughing; he knows he feels them prodding. </p><p><em>Stop</em>, he wants to say. <em>Just stop.</em></p><p>And then the towel is gone. The bright assault of the shower lights flood his vision and he’s squeezing his eyes shut. He half turns over on his side, coughing harshly to get the water <em>out</em> and the oxygen <em>in</em>. His throat and lungs burn with each hack, but he’s too desperate to stop. His hands splay against the wet tile. He feels the spray of water on his back and the droplets dripping off his chin as he tries to regain his breath.</p><p>“Riko said we could stop if you say yes,” Johnson sneers. Nathaniel knows exactly what he’s referring to, especially when the others exchange sly glances and then deliberately drag their gaze down Nathaniel’s body. “How ‘bout it, Wesninski? Or are you going to stay on your high horse?”</p><p>Nathaniel glares at him—all of them—through his soaked hair. He spits a glob of blood at them. “Fuck you, you talentless piece of shit.”</p><p>In less than a second, the towel was back again, smothering him. It sticks to his face like a second skin, but thicker. He can’t get any air. The water it there, soaking through the fabric and trailing down his throat until he’s drowning. Anything he does only seems to deprive him of oxygen. But each time he feels like he’s about to pass out from lack of air, the towel disappears, and Nathaniel is left gasping on the tile floor before given the same proposal. He turns it down every time, adding a rather nasty comment. The towel wraps around his face again and the water rains down. </p><p>He doesn’t know how long it lasts or how many times he was waterboarded. He’s unsure if he passed out or not. One moment he can’t breathe and the next he’s left alone on the tile floor in the showers. </p><p>He lays there, his chest still heaving. A raw burn accompanies every movement. Nathaniel gently tests out each limb. They’re trembling and sore from exertion. There’s some bruising due to them holding him down and grappling with him. There’s some blood too, but he doesn’t think any of it is his. He shifts back and forth slightly and determines they didn’t do anything else while he was unconscious. He eventually attempts to push himself up, but he slips and falls back on the tile. Nathaniel takes deep, measured breaths before pushing himself up a second time, leaning against the wall for support until his legs stop shaking. </p><p>The clock in the locker room tells him that he’s been in the showers for over an hour. Nathaniel pushes the thought aside and finishes dressing. He heads to the dining hall afterward. The thought of food both has his stomach rolling with distaste and his mouth salivating with anticipation. It’s been over two days in Raven time without any food. </p><p>Nathaniel made the mistake of being too optimistic. </p><p>He has to pass through the lounge to get into the dining hall. And of course, Riko and Kevin are there, along with Samson and Brauner. Nathaniel pauses and surveys the rest of the room. Engle and Johnson aren’t there. Samson and Brauner see him first. They grin at him and he sneers back. Kevin, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here, grimaces and takes a swig of his water bottle. The liquid inside is clear, but Nathaniel knows it’s not water. </p><p>Riko stands and approaches Nathaniel, his smile less nasty but not at all nice. It’s the fake pleasant smile Riko always wears when he thinks he holds all the cards in a situation.</p><p>“Oh, Nathaniel, I’m sorry,” Riko says in a tone that implies that he is, in fact, anything but. “But the dining hall actually ran out of food.” A lie. “Guess you should try to get to the dining hall earlier next time and not take so long in the showers. I’m sure you weren’t that hungry though.” Riko’s eyes darken and he continues with vexation. “My brother probably treated you well last night.”</p><p>Nathaniel doesn’t miss the double meaning, and despite the new bruises and lingering touches from earlier—no doubt a warning sign sent by Riko—Nathaniel doesn’t back down. He opens his mouth, ignoring the soreness radiating from his lungs and his throat.</p><p>“Who? Oh, you mean Ichirou. Sorry, sorry, it’s just when you say ‘my brother’ my mind naturally draws a blank, you know? Since he basically acts like you don’t exist and refuses to acknowledge any- and everything you do. But yeah, actually, we had a great time. We wine and dined. Great food. I think he flew it in from some place in Europe. I don’t know. The evening was so relaxing and honestly very pleasant. Such a  nice change-up from a normal day at the Nest, you know? And to make it even better, your name wasn’t even mentioned once—“</p><p>Nathaniel watches Riko’s face as he says all this, notes when his general displeasure morphs into untamed fury. Riko’s hand snags a fistful of Nathaniel’s hair, pulling on his already tender scalp. He uses his grip to drag Nathaniel a few feet before throwing him on the floor. The lounge is carpeted, but his injuries and aches from the past twelve hours still throb painfully when he hits the ground, forcing a grunt to leave his lips. The lighter is like a weight in his pocket, but he doesn’t go for it. </p><p>“You can never just shut up and learn your place, can you Nathaniel?” Riko seethes. </p><p>He walks up to stand in front of him. Nathaniel looks up at him between his bangs, contempt clear in his expression, before pushing himself back to his feet. Riko shoves his shoulder before he can regain his equilibrium, and Nathaniel falls back, this time throwing his arms back to catch himself. He stays there, expression the same as before: flat, unaffected, bored. He knows it’s driving Riko crazy. </p><p>“Do you think you're better than me? Better than <em>this</em>?” Riko’s waves his hand dismissively, but his eyes are tight and furious. “The only reason you’re still alive is so you can play Exy—well, and get someone’s rocks off when needed.” Riko’s lip curls as he looks down at Nathaniel. “You are <em>nothing</em>. You always were and you always will be.”</p><p>Nathaniel’s mouth quirks up in the order and he dips his chin, looking at Riko with faux innocence. “From how it sounds, I’m at least useful for <em>two</em> things, while you’re only useful for one. Really, Riko, you should look into expanding your horizons—“</p><p>A hand catches his cheek. The same one that hit the floor in the showers and just a moment ago. Nathaniel hits the floor hard for the nth time that day. He braces his hands over his head as he’s exposed to Riko’s fury. Between the strands of his hair and his arm, he sees Kevin sitting on the couch, nursing his bottle of alcohol. His eyes catch Nathaniel’s and the younger boy tries to channel as much hatred into that stare as possible. </p><p><em>Coward</em>, he wants to tell Kevin as a kick lands on his rib cage.</p><p>The striker flinches and drains the rest of the liquid before slouching down and laying his head on the back of the couch. He stares at the ceiling until Riko decides he’s finished. </p><p>*****</p><p>When Nathaniel makes it back to his room, Jean is laying on his bed, facing the wall. Nathaniel hobbles over to his own bed and grasps the frame to support himself as he slowly lowers his body down until it hits the mattress. An unpleasant bolt of pain once again racks through him. He blindly reaches around from his nightstand drawer and pulls it open. He grabs the bottle of pain pills inside. A few months after Jean arrived, Riko beat both him and Nathaniel to the point where they were black and blue. This was near the beginning of the season, so when they went into the Raven’s nurse for their routine check-up, he wordlessly handed both Jean and Nathaniel a bottle of prescribed pain pills. It wasn’t out of compassion or worry. It was done with as much tact as someone who was working their night shift at a 24-hour gas station—that is to say, he gave zero fucks. He gave them the pills because both he and the Master knew Jean and Nathaniel couldn’t play without them. </p><p>Nathaniel pops two back before setting the mostly full pill bottle on top of his nightstand. He slowly reclines until he’s laying down on his bed. He’ll likely become nauseous since he took pills on an empty stomach, but he can’t seem to find the strength to care right now. </p><p>“You’re an idiot,” Jean's voice mumbles across the dark room. </p><p>Nathaniel blinks up at the ceiling. He’s alone in his room. Jean is here, but Jean is safe. He finally allows himself to unwind. The toxins seep out of his body and he sinks into his mattress, feeling all the aches and pains. He doesn’t allow his mind to wander. He keeps it anchored in the here and now. </p><p>“I know.”</p><p>A few minutes pass, but Nathaniel knows Jean is still awake from the sound of his breathing. </p><p>“Did they—?”</p><p>“No,” Nathaniel interjects, voice grating.</p><p>Nathaniel pretends the faint sigh of relief he hears from the other side of the room is a figment of his imagination.</p><p>“You know if you keep pushing him you won’t always be that lucky.”</p><p>Nathaniel lets out a bark of laughter that sends another throb pulsing throughout his body. “I wouldn’t necessarily call myself lucky.”</p><p>“You know what I mean,” Jean says.</p><p>The smile slides off Nathaniel’s face. “Yeah, I know.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have another busy week coming up, so I don't know when I am going to upload next. With that being said, I hope you enjoy this update! Canon aspects will start to be introduced next chapter. </p><p>Also with this last update, the fic passed 1000 hits and 100 kudos. Thank you so much for your support! </p><p>Let me know what you think. Leave a kudos, comment, whatever. Any form of interaction is appreciated!</p><p>Thanks for reading!</p><p>-orth</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The End of Many Things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I was today years old when I found out you could have notes at the beginning and end of a chapter. Just a warning that this does include some non-descriptive torture and the smoking of a cigar (I am not encouraging smoking; it's just part of the story)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nathaniel doesn’t hear from Ichirou for a while, which means Sasha and the others are likely out of the country. Nathaniel is more than fine with that. It gives him time to plant his feet in the ground, regain his bearing. He’s here to play Exy more than anything else. While he would never admit that to Kevin, the older striker was right in that regard. He needs to focus. He has just over a year and a half until he officially joins the Ravens, but he’s been a Raven since he first arrived in the Nest. The only thing up to question is where he’ll stand on the team. He knows what’s expected of him and that nothing less will be met with goodwill. </p><p>He needs to focus. </p><p>The practices are intense in the next few days. The season championship is coming up, and even though it’s a clear shot for the Ravens—as it is every year—tensions always rise towards the end of the season. They all feel it, Nathaniel and Jean more than the others—for them, it’s more in the literal sense, not just hypothetical. </p><p>Nathaniel supposed they’re lucky to the extent that the Ravens are so busy preparing that Riko doesn’t necessarily take the time to torment them outside of the Court. The scrimmages and practices are brutal enough, however, that they make up for that time. Riko makes sure of it.</p><p>When the Ravens leave for their next away game, Nathaniel secretly relishes their absence and the alone time he gets because of it, even if it’s only for a few hours. The only thing he worries over is Jean having to go along with them. He knows it’s unavoidable, but still. </p><p>Typically when he’s left at the Nest, he would go up to the roof. There’s a small landing that overlooks the campus. In the distance, you can see the city skyline. He stumbled across it one day after he’d returned to the Nest. This was before Jean had arrived. Nathaniel was in an unfamiliar place with no allies. Riko had paid him a visit the night before; he didn’t want to go back to his room, so he was roaming the halls. His curiosity was brewing. In retrospect, perhaps curiosity wasn’t the right word. He’d been at the Nest for a few weeks. He had partly—<em>mostly</em>— accepted his fate of being sealed off under the Nest and playing Exy, but he was restless. And being on the court wasn’t <em>enough</em>. He was used to running, used to a change of scenery. All he saw under the Nest was black and red. He felt as if he was drowning in shadows and blood. He never got to leave the Nest, like Riko and Kevin—this was, of course, before Ichirou began to recruit him for his various tasks. </p><p>So, when he went a floor up, found a doorway that led to the janitors quarters, kept walking down the long polished concrete hallway—gray, not black surprisingly— found the storage room with a blocked off doorway in the back corner, and pushed aside all the junk to find it lead to the rooftop, he felt as though he took his first full and fresh breath in weeks. </p><p>Nathaniel was careful not to show any sign of him having been there. He put the items back in front of the door every time. He often just went up there to breathe and watch, but lately, he hasn’t had a lot of time to do those things. And even now, with all the Ravens gone, he still didn’t have the time. Instead, Nathaniel had to do something so mundane it almost made him laugh: homework. </p><p>It was easy to forget he was still in high school. He’d attended school here and there while on the run, but never longer than a few months. The Master made it clear he would need to graduate high school before becoming a Raven. Of course, they don’t trust him to leave the Nest, or rather they don’t want to give him that freedom. So, Nathaniel takes online classes. The Master had provided him with a laptop and was sure to let him know everything he did on there was recorded and monitored. Nathaniel wanted to ask him what he thought Nathaniel would do with it. It’s not like he had anyone to contact or any hobbies besides Exy and surviving. He was completely and utterly alone. But the Master knew that.</p><p>Nathaniel is still sitting at his desk doing schoolwork when Jean returns. He hears the door open and greets him without turning around. They’d won, but that was to be expected. Jean is quiet as he walks deeper into the room, too quiet. Nathaniel turns away from his laptop, looking at his partner. </p><p>“What? Did Riko have a hissy fit?”</p><p>When Jean meets Nathaniel’s gaze, he looks nervous. The anxiety is clearly there, dancing in the depths of his eyes as he fidgets with his hands where he’s standing. Nathaniel tenses. </p><p>“What?” He urges. </p><p>Jean licks his lips. “There’s been some rumors going around, in the ERC and the NCAA. I guess among some reporters too. After the game—Riko was in a good mood—that was until the press started to, um, ask some questions about the rumors. It—it wasn’t good—“</p><p>“Jean, what rumors?” </p><p>“The ERC &amp; NCAA. They think—or they wonder if Riko is holding Kevin back and if the Master is letting it happen. They’ve always been good, Riko and Kevin, but…Kevin’s been talked about a lot lately. He’s getting good and people have noticed, but they think he’s holding back and something, or rather <em>someone</em>, is the cause of that.”</p><p>Jean swallows nervously once he finishes, still wringing his hands together. Nathaniel stared at him, jaw slack as his brain slowly switches over from studying Japanese kanji to processing the words that just came out of Jean’s mouth. When his brain catches up, Nathaniel can’t help it. He laughs. </p><p>He clutches the back of his chair and cackles and while Jean continues to stare at him in distress.</p><p>“<em>Wow</em>,” Nathaniel says, resting his cheek on the palm of his hand. “I bet Riko was not happy to hear that. I wish I was there to see the look on his face.”</p><p>Jean’s brows lower. “Nathaniel.”</p><p>“Kevin always had more room to grow.” Nathaniel pauses, then laughs again. “Literally. He literally grew more, get it?”</p><p>“<em>Nathaniel</em>,” Jean hisses. </p><p>“This kinda sucks for Riko. I mean, they can’t very well switch numbers considering <em>they’re tattooed on their face—</em>“</p><p>“He’s going to hurt Kevin,” Jean cuts in, his voice and expression faltering.</p><p>Nathaniel’s mouth abruptly closes, and he levels Jean with a cool glance before turning back around in his seat. </p><p>“I gotta get this assignment done. It’s due tonight.”</p><p>“<em>Nathaniel</em>,” Jean says again. Nathaniel grits his teeth as he reads the kanji across the screen. “Did you hear what I just said? Riko is going to hurt Kevin.”</p><p>“I heard you,” he snaps, mouth tight.</p><p>“Then why are you—“</p><p>“<em>Because I don’t care!</em>” Nathaniel spins around in his chair, red hot anger fizzling underneath his skin. He blinks and sees Kevin sitting on the couch, drinking, as Nathaniel is being beaten into the ground. Sees Kevin changing by his locker, not sparing Jean or Nathaniel a glance as they get dragged off into the showers screaming; see Kevin chuckle at Riko’s crude comments. “And I don’t understand why <em>you do</em>.”</p><p>Jean gapes at him. “What—Nathaniel, he’s…”</p><p>Nathaniel springs to his feet. “He’s what, Jean? He’s not your partner. You and I—we’re not on the same level as Kevin. Riko has made it clear where you and I stand—we’re <em>things</em>—and all Kevin has done is stand by and allow everything to happen. He’s a <em>coward</em> and frankly, I think it’ll be good for him if he gets a taste of what Riko’s been dishing out. Maybe he’ll grow some balls and think twice the next time he guzzles down a bottle of alcohol on the sidelines why you and I are being beaten black and blue. Maybe he’ll be useful for something other than playing his goddamn sport. Maybe, <em>maybe</em>, something will click and he’ll stop following around and listening to Riko like he’s some pathetic little puppy. Actually, I think I’m giving him too much credit. But even if nothing changes, I still don’t want to help him. And neither should you. Because he <em>deserves</em> whatever’s coming.”</p><p>By the time Nathaniel is finished, he’s heaving and his skin is prickling. Jean looks at him with wide eyes and then shakes his head. He walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Nathaniel stares at the spot Jean was standing, waiting for his erratic heart to calm down. Then, he takes a deep breath and sits back in his chair, returning to his computer screen.</p><p>He re-reads the same sentence about ten times before pausing and sitting back in his chair. After a few moments, he leans forward again and attempts to read the sentence. His brain is churning, but its focus isn’t on Japanese. </p><p>“Fuck,” Nathaniel exhales, slouching back in his chair again. He rakes both hands down his face and then back up through his hair before standing to his feet. He leaves his room and follows after Jean. </p><p>He knows where to go. Within minutes he’s at the court. He spots Jean. Other Ravens are here too. When Nathaniel gets closer, he sees they’re watching something on the court. Nathaniel’s gaze follows. Samson is in the goal. Riko and Kevin are out to the court too. They’re scrimmaging…against each other. Nathaniel doesn’t remember ever seeing the two go against one another. They’ve always been on the same side. </p><p>The Master stands closest to the plexiglass, watching, hands folded behind his back. Riko’s movements are rigid and fierce. As a backline, Nathaniel has had to stop Riko and Kevin before in practice. He knows from experience that Kevin’s movements are apprehensive and slower than usual. Just a bit. He looks at Jean out of the corner of his eye and knows he knows it too. </p><p>In the end, both strikers are sweaty and breathing hard. Samson keels over in the goal. Riko won by three goals. Kevin rips off his helmet and attempts to give Riko a shaky smile. His mouth moves, but his skin is slightly too pale. Even from so far away, Nathaniel can see Riko glaring back, eyes full of malice.</p><p>*****</p><p>The Ravens win the championship, as predicted. Riko is all smiles and he and Kevin appear to be back on good terms. The Ravens celebrate the win and hover in the lounge. Nathaniel makes sure he retreats to his bedroom early that night, mumbling something about homework. Riko is in a good enough mood that he lets it slide. </p><p>The Christmas banquet arrives soon after. Nathaniel allows himself to visit the rooftop once the Ravens leave, knowing they’ll be gone for longer than just a few hours this time around. He brings the lighter up with him, sits dangerously close to the edge of the building, and stares off into the distance until the sun touches the horizon. It’s a refreshing reminder, being outside. He knows there’s a whole world out there; he’s seen a lot of it. Not for leisure, of course. But…it’s something. It’s a thought. Perhaps a depressing one considering he might not ever get to see much of the outside world. Then again, when he makes Court—Kevin’s made it clear it will be a <em>when</em> and not an <em>if</em>—he’ll likely get to travel when playing games. He’ll see things. </p><p><em>But you won’t be free</em>, the horribly annoying voice that resides in the back of his mind says.</p><p>Nathaniel scoffs and flicks open the lighter, watching the blue flame appear in front of the skyline. He goes back inside once his bones become stiff with cold and he can no longer feel his face. </p><p>When he returns to his room, he finds a package sitting on his bed. His first instinct is to panic because <em>someone’s been in his room</em>. Someone was here while he wasn’t, and he was supposed to be alone at the Nest. He spins around, stares at the shut door. There’s no lock. Riko wouldn’t allow that. Nathaniel grips his lighter and grabs a ballpoint pen from his desk, just in case. </p><p>He slowly approaches his bed, appraising the package. Nathaniel knees the bed, watches the package jostle along with the mattress, before sitting down alongside it. After staring at it for a good few minutes, he decides to open it. He places it in his lap, pulling off the lid. He pauses, half expecting someone to burst in through his door. It doesn’t happen, so he looks down at the contents. </p><p>Sitting on the very top is a brief letter written in Japanese. Nathaniel’s brain processes the characters, understands the message.</p><p>
  <em>The agreement is now complete. You did well on your part.</em>
</p><p>Nathaniel licks his suddenly dry lips and picks up the small note, bringing it closer to his face as if he would see something he had missed before. He reads it numerous times. </p><p>He knew the last few aspects of the deal were being negotiated. Ichirou told him as much, but…that’s it? He’s done, with it all? No more “tasks”? Nathaniel feels a rise of both panic and relief. He’s not sure which is stronger. The feelings grate against one another until Nathaniel feels sick to his stomach. </p><p>He’s done? Just like that?</p><p>The implications of him not being needed anymore hit him hard, but he’s quick to assure himself he’s still playing Exy. That’s his <em>job</em>, why he was dragged back. This is secondary. He should be glad it’s over, glad he doesn’t have to dress up and go to that club again, glad he doesn’t have to crawl in bed on command. </p><p>Nathaniel crumbles up the paper and throws it across the room, accompanied by a grunt of rage. It harmlessly bounces off the wall above Jean’s desk, landing on the ground. Nathaniel stares across the room at the inky walls.</p><p>That’s it?</p><p>Underneath the note, there is a single wrapped present of sorts. It’s thin and flat, like a book. He picks it up and weighs it out in his palm before tearing into the tissue paper that covers it. The item inside falls out, landing back in the box. Nathaniel stares at it blankly. </p><p>It’s a small box of cigars. There’s maybe five or six in there. Nathaniel recognizes it as the kind the Ostrovskys smoke when they’re at the speakeasy. But he knows one of them was behind sending this. </p><p>This <em>feeling</em> arises again. It’s one he’s been feeling for days, weeks. It’s like he’s a filled to the brim with hot, liquid anger and one push this way and that sends him dangerously swaying. He tries to right himself, knowing if he falls and crashes, he’ll shatter.  But it’s hard. He’s so full, but it just keeps coming and coming. The court gives him some release, but he has control there. Riko dictates the court and everything off of it.</p><p>Nathaniel snags the box of cigars, shoves the now-empty package under the bed, and marches back to the roof. It’s dark out now, and it takes his eyes a minute or two to adjust to the lack of lighting, but he still ventures close to the edge. He takes out one of the cigars and stares at it. He’s never smoked a cigar before. He’s seen others do it while on the run, but it’s not like he’s ever paid close attention. He brings the cigar close to his face and studies it. There’s no clear filter like there is with a cigarette. The end is sealed off still. </p><p>“Shit,” he mutters into the darkness when he realizes he has no way of cutting the end.</p><p>He glances back over to the cigar box and his eyes catch sight of something he didn’t spot before. It’s not visible due to the missing cigar. A knife. </p><p>His hand initially reaches out, then he stops. He hasn’t touched a knife since arriving at the Nest over two years ago (that’s not to say a knife hasn’t been used on him since then). But it’s not like the Master purposely kept knives away from him, he just…he didn’t try to get at one. Seeing one here in front of him make him pause. </p><p>He stares at it, ponders, then after a measured exhales, picks it up and deftly cuts off the very tip of the cigar before setting the knife back down in the box. His hand slips into the pockets of his sweats, closing around the lighter. It takes him a while to light the cigar, but once he’s sure it’s lit, he slowly brings it to his mouth. </p><p>Nathaniel might not know much about cigars, but what he does know is that if there’s no filter, you shouldn’t breathe in, not if you want to avoid nicotine poisoning. Although, it’s nice to know he has options. </p><p>He places the cigar in his mouth, eyes catching on the luminous city skyline, and just lets it sit there. And he immediately breaks out into a coughing fit. </p><p>“Fucking hell,” he coughs, holding the cigar far away from his face. It tasted burnt. </p><p>Nathaniel hacks up the last few remnants of burnt nicotine and scrunches his nose as he sniffs in, regarding the cigar in his hand. He cautiously brings it to his lips again and immediately rips it away. </p><p>“Nope, no,” he wheezes to himself, pressing the cigar into the concrete. A pungent smell immediately fills the air, but he ignores it. </p><p>Nathaniel heads back inside, discards the cigar in the trash shoot, and goes back to his room. He decides to take a shower, partly to wash the cigar scent away and because this is one of the few times he can take a shower without having to worry about any of the other Ravens barging in. </p><p>He takes his time in the showers. His muscles sing in relief as the hot water washes over them. Nathaniel ducks his head and watches the water trail down the drain, purposely avoiding the corner where he was pinned down by four of Riko’s henchmen. </p><p>The rest of Nathaniel’s night is uneventful. He pulls out his laptop again, needing to catch up on homework. He’s not sure how long he was working. When his eyelids get too heavy, he migrates to his bed and manages to get in a few hours of sleep before his eyes are snapping open again, his mind suddenly crystal clear and awake. Nathaniel looks over at the clock to see he managed to get about two hours of sleep. He pushes himself up and goes to his desk. That process goes on for a while. Homework. Sleep. Homework. Sleep. </p><p>By the time he hears the door to the room open, he’s made good headway in his work, which is nice. He was falling behind for a time there. With his and the Master’s word, he was able to get an extension on most of his assignments. He was already playing catch-up due to his many years on the run. He can’t afford to fall behind any more than he already is, less he risks not graduating on time. And that, he knows, is not an option. </p><p>“Hey,” Nathaniel says without turning around. He sits back in his chair and stretches his arms up, savoring the way his vertebrae and shoulders popped. “How was the banquet?”</p><p>He hears footsteps crossing the room and Nathaniel’s internal alarms blare right before a cold cuff is locked around his right wrist. Nathaniel jerks away, but Riko already has the other handcuff closed around the pole at the foot of his bed. </p><p>Nathaniel still falls, his chair, slide out from under him. His left side hits the ground while his right shoulder screams out in protest front the angle. He quickly scrambles up and around, back pressed against the desk, right arm still raised awkwardly. He sees Riko’s face and yanks at the cuffs, trying to get away, but knowing his attempt is futile. </p><p>Riko looks…unhinged. How Nathaniel imagined he looked when he first came back from spending the night with Sasha. Riko’s always been a sadist, but Nathaniel’s confident he’s always full well known what he was doing. Right now he looks out of his mind. His eyes are feral and simmering; his mouth is curled up in a snarl; his skin is too pale and glistening with sweat. </p><p>“<em>You slut</em>,” Riko snarls, whipping his hand out from where it was hanging behind his backed, bringing a large knife into view. </p><p>Nathaniel instinctively freezes in his attempt to yank himself free. Riko has never pulled a knife on his before.</p><p>“You planned this didn’t you,” Riko continues, staring down at Nathaniel as if he’s a piece of gum on his shoe. Worse, even. He holds a personal grudge. “My real brother wasn’t enough, so you had to take Kevin too!?”</p><p>Nathaniel feels his mouth drop open. “What—<em>What the fuck</em> are you talking about?” He spits back, stills when Riko angles the knife even closer. He feels the knobs of the drawers painfully pressing against his spine. </p><p>Riko’s eyes <em>blaze</em> with fury as Nathaniel denies his accusation. He crouches down so he’s on the same level and presses the knife on Nathaniel's neck, gently, just laying it there—but it’s enough to make Nathaniel’s heart start to race like a drum. He tilts his head back as far as possible to get away from the blade, but Riko just advances, with the knife and himself until his lips are a breadth away from Nathaniel’s cheek. </p><p>“You’ve always challenged the hold my uncle and I have had on you since the first day you arrived. You worked your way into a relationship with my brother because you thought it would give you leverage over me. And when whoring yourself out wasn’t enough, you whispered in Kevin’s ear, praised him, seduced him with foolish ideas that he was better than he really was. You made him get in over his head. <em>You made him leave.</em>”</p><p>Nathaniel’s head is heavy against the wooden desk. His tongue is too dry in his mouth. Riko’s word sink into his muddled brain. Kevin left? He left? At the banquet? </p><p>“You’re psychotic,” Nathaniel grounds back, his own rage pushing past the haze enveloping his mind. The coolness of the blade seeps into his skin and pulls it from his bones. “If Kevin left it was because <em>you</em> drove him away.”</p><p>That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Riko grabs the front of Nathaniel’s t-shirt and yanks him up. He’s sloppy with the knife, so the blade slides across Nathaniel’s neck, underneath his jaw, breaking open the skin. Riko maneuvers him around and shoves him on his bed. It creaks. The cuffs clang against the bar and Nathaniel is suddenly in the basement. </p><p>He whimpers when he feels the warm liquid seeping down his neck. He prods at the wound with shaking fingers. It isn’t that deep. It’s not in a lethal spot. He’s fine. </p><p>Riko is quick to crawl over him, straddling Nathaniel’s waist. With his free hand, Nathaniel makes a piss-poor effort of shoving him away, his mind saying <em>no no no</em>, but his motions cease when Riko presses the knife against the skin that is now showing between his sweats and his shirt that had ridden up. His knee pins down Nathaniel’s spare hand. </p><p>He spits and screeches at Nathaniel, saying he poisoned Kevin just like he poisoned his brother. That Nathaniel forced both of them to turn their back on Riko. Nathaniel responds by saying that wasn’t the result of poison, it was just the result of common sense and good judgment. Riko’s face turns a new shade of purple, and Riko cuts open Nathaniel’s shirt, displaying the scars and bruises underneath. He’s sloppy with the knife again and draws a thin cut down Nathaniel’s torso. </p><p>“My uncle told me my brother grew tired of you warming his bed,” Riko snarls in his ear, spittle hitting the side of Nathaniel’s face. “You’re <em>all</em> mine now.”</p><p>He draws back. Presses the knife against the side of his ribs. “Scream if you have to.”</p><p>Nathaniel clenches his jaw. The knife digs into his side. And his mouth fills with blood.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I chose to disregard school tonight and write this chapter, so I hope you enjoy! As promised, some canon elements present and more to come. I have tests coming up and I'm traveling across the country, so I don't know when the next chapter will be up. Hopefully in about a week. </p><p>Lmk how you like it, leave a kudos, comment. Any form of interaction is appreciated. Lmk if you catch any mistakes as well!</p><p>Thanks for reading</p><p>-orth</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Breaking Point</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s hands on him. The fingertips trail across his chest, his abdomen, his hips, pressing and prodding his muscles. Each touch leaves an aftershock of pain that has him flinching away. Or rather, <em>attempting to</em>. His limbs feel like lead and no matter how much he wills for them to move, they stay chained to the ground, held down by some invisible force. The fingers trail down to his side, pressing firmly at the soft spot above his hip. He feels the sheets pressed against his back, his front. </p><p>“<em>No</em>,” he gasps out. </p><p>His words are delayed and muffled to his ears. His mouth is dry and numb. He flicks his tongue out to lick his lips, doesn’t feel it. Tries again, but gives up when he’s not even sure if his tongue is moving. The fingers stop their movement against his side and pull away.</p><p>“Nathaniel,” Jean says. </p><p>Said boy pries open his eyes and slowly blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice. The room is bright, much brighter than the Nest typically is, but Nathaniel knows where he’s at. His fingers twitch and seize the ground beneath him. Tile, not bedsheets. His chest shutters and he clenches his eyes shut. </p><p><em>Good, good</em>, he thinks. <em>Now let’s just rest for a bit.</em></p><p>“Nathaniel,” Jean says again, this time more firmly. There’s an urgency to it, though.</p><p>He peels open his eyes again and stares blankly at his partner who’s kneeling over him. Nathaniel’s just so tired. He tries to say “what,” but it comes out as more of a grunt than anything. </p><p>Jean’s dark eyes are easier to read in this lighting. The bathroom connected to their room in the Nest is still fitted with dark tile and dark walls, but the lighting was much brighter in here than in their room. His partner’s eyes were filled with the typical distress that came after Riko’s abuse, but this time there was something else in the depths of his eyes. Nathaniel must’ve been staring for too long because Jean hastily averts his eyes and something surfaces amidst the haze consuming Nathaniel’s mind. </p><p>Ah, yes, he recognizes that look in Jean’s eyes, despite his lack of exposure to the emotion. Those who have tormented him before have never shown an ounce of guilt. Yet now it appears in Jean’s gaze.</p><p>Nathaniel squeezes his eyes shut again, willing the fog in his brain to disappear. His limbs are starting to regain feeling again—which is good. Even if that means that the pain delivered by Riko’s knives also washes over him in full force.</p><p>Nathaniel pauses in the middle of evaluating his injuries. The knives. He suppresses a shiver at what little he remembers from last night. The beginning—Riko storming into his room, throwing him on the bed, cutting his shirt open before cutting into his skin—that Nathaniel remembered. Everything after was a bit of a blur. </p><p>He knew it was only a matter of time before Riko moved on to some new form of torment. Knives seemed like the natural option, considering Nathaniel’s past with them. And with Riko now knowing Ichirou had cut him off—cut him “free”—well, Nathaniel is no longer under anyone’s jurisdiction but the Master’s. And the Master typically lets Riko do whatever he pleases, tantrums and torture and all.</p><p>Nathaniel lets out a drawn-out exhale, flinches when his side twinges in a painful way. He opens his eyes and rolls his head on the tile flooring to look at Jean who’s sitting back against the sink vanity. Despite the black attire Jean is wearing, Nathaniel can see the dark stains on the front. His partner’s red hands are even more telling; they’re not trembling, however. They had to be still in order to stitch Nathaniel up properly. </p><p>“What time is it?” Nathaniel groans. His hand reaches out and haphazardly slaps Jean on his knee. It slips and lands back on the cool tile. “Jean, when’s practice?”</p><p>Jean is quiet against the sink, so Nathaniel thinks <em>fuck this</em> and moves to push himself up. The bolt of pain throughout his body is immediate, and he bites down on his lip to keep from crying out in pain. He lets out a hiss and flinches again when he finds his lip particularly sore. Jean moves to pull his hand away when Nathaniel reaches up to prod at it. </p><p>“Stop that,” Jean softly scolds him. “You’ll ruin the stitches.”</p><p>Ah, so he <em>did</em> bite through his lip last night. That would explain why his lips felt so swollen. </p><p>“What time is it?” Nathaniel repeats from his position half-sitting up. This angle isn’t the most comfortable. Luckily, Jean seems to sense that and helps him to sit up fully. Nathaniel leans back against the wall, his breaths coming a bit too fast and short. </p><p><em>Fuck</em>. Nathaniel looks down and splays his hands on his bare abdomen, noting the abundance of white gauze against his tanned skin. There are splotches of blood here and there, most of it dry. He picks at a patch of dried blood on his ribs. It flakes off and lands on his sweats. The same pair from last night. He moves his legs slowly and doesn’t feel anything. Riko must’ve spared his legs, he thinks with a sigh of relief. His legs are fine. He can still move.</p><p>“—Nathaniel, did you hear what I said?” Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts, drawing the redhead’s attention back to him. </p><p>“What?” Nathaniel snaps back, feeling a sudden bout of anger rising. </p><p>Jean shoots him a stern look but it almost immediately evaporates in something more fragile. “You should take some pain medicine.” In his palm sits two white pills. </p><p>Nathaniel’s swollen lips curl open in a half snarl. “I’m fine,” he says, holding back the desire to swat the pills out of Jean’s hand. </p><p>His partner’s gaze only narrows but Nathaniel can still spot the underlying guilt he if looks deep enough. “Take it. Practice is in less than three hours. You know if any of them see you stumble, it’ll be even worse for you.”</p><p>“<em>I’ve handled worse</em>,” Nathaniel growls. He slouches back against the wall, his whole body thrumming. “I don’t want it.”</p><p>“Nathaniel,” Jean says. “<em>Take it</em>.”</p><p>“I said <em>no</em>.”</p><p>“Your obstinate attitude is going to get you killed one day.”</p><p>“I can’t <em>wait</em>,” Nathaniel bites back.</p><p>Jean stares at him with a sort of defeated expression. His hand curls, hiding the pills once more, and he leans back against the vanity. They both just sit there for a few moments, letting the coolness of the room seep into their bones. The smell of sweat and iron is still fresh in the air. On top of the counter sits bloody paper towels and gauze. The first aid kit is open. Nathaniel supposes he should probably be grateful that Jean stitched him up, but his mouth remains sealed shut. Part of him wonders what would’ve happened if Jean hadn’t dragged him off his bed and into the bathroom to play doctor. </p><p>“Kevin really left?” Nathaniel’s voice sounds hollow to his own ears. He doesn’t look at Jean, but he hears the emptiness and despair in his partner’s own voice. </p><p>“Yeah,” he says softly. He clears his throat. “It just—people kept asking questions at the banquet. It was like the game, but this time—Riko just snapped. He broke Kevin’s hand—his left hand, Nathaniel. Shattered it. I-I didn’t see it, but I heard it. Riko left and I found Kevin.” Jean swallows the lump that had developed in his throat. “There was so much blood and—and the bones were visible. I didn’t know what to do.”</p><p>Jean turns to Nathaniel. The younger man is already staring at him, waiting. The guilt is back, thick and palpable in the air. “I told him to leave. I got him down to the hotel lobby and to a cab.” Jean hesitates and looks away. “I told him to go to Palmetto.”</p><p>The name is familiar to Nathaniel. It takes his mind a few moments longer than necessary to connect the dots but then, <em>ah yes</em>. The short, blond, temperamental goalkeeper. Andrew Minyard. Kevin had tried to recruit him last year, but Minyard showed no interest in joining the Ravens. He’d gone to Palmetto instead. It seems as though Kevin hadn’t forgotten about the rejection. Although, that is very Kevin-like. </p><p>The Foxes coach, David Wymack, was also an old friend of Kevin’s mother if Nathaniel remembers correctly. </p><p>Nathaniel’s mouth twists into a sour kind of smile. “Good for Kevin. I’m glad he’s found someplace that will welcome him with open arms. They must be a special kind of saint.” He’s heard of Coach Wymack’s charitable approach to filling his roster,  handing out second chances to Exy-loving fuck-ups. Kevin fits that category alright. “Well, actually, I don’t think Minyard will be too happy to see him.”</p><p>Nathaniel remembers when Kevin came back from trying to recruit the goalkeeper. He was still fuming and wouldn’t say a word about it. Jean had later told Nathaniel that Minyard told the striker he would tell him to shove his Exy stick up his ass, but then the blond would be afraid that would only push whatever was already up Kevin’s ass that much further in, making his superior-than-thou attitude impossible to repair, which apparently would be something he would “not even wish upon those bastard Ravens.”</p><p>Nathaniel’s lips curled up absentmindedly. He could appreciate the insult. </p><p>Jean licks his lips and glances at Nathaniel again. “I’m sorry,” he says again. </p><p>Nathaniel rolls his eyes. “You’ve said that. Multiple times.” He pushes himself to his feet, adamant about getting away from this conversation and possibly getting in a few hours of sleep before practice. He knows it’s unlikely, especially if he doesn’t take the pills. </p><p>Jean scrambles up after him, and Nathaniel holds his hand up, keeping him away. He ignores the screaming protests coming from his upper body as he sways dangerously. </p><p>“Let me help you—,” Jean begins, coming forward, ignoring Nathaniel’s outstretched hand. </p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Nathaniel stresses through gritted teeth as he tries to edge around his partner. He knows what’s coming. Knows in the sense that he’s not going to like it. He’s known since he woke up and saw the brimming guilt in the other backliner’s eyes. </p><p>Even though Nathaniel can normally outmaneuver Jean, his partner is still a top-notch backliner. With Jean’s broad stature and Nathaniel’s injuries, the latter is at a disadvantage this time around. He begrudgingly slumps back against the wall, glaring at his partner. </p><p>“<em>What</em>?”</p><p>Jean’s hand softly wraps around Nathaniel’s bicep, and the redhead decides he’ll allow it for a minute or two. </p><p>“I told Kevin to go to Palmetto. When Riko found out Kevin was gone, he was furious. Samson and Brauner—probably Johnson and Engle and all them too—they said some things. I don’t know what all they said. I wasn’t there; I was cleaning up. I expected Riko to come barging into my room, but I didn’t see him until we were heading back. He was calm considering what just happened, but I knew he was just waiting to get back to the Nest, to you.”</p><p>Nathaniel stays slumped against the wall, staring blankly at Jean. His partner seems to fold under the gaze. </p><p>“I knew, <em>I knew</em>,” he whispers. “They must’ve mixed you into the story somehow. It was the only explanation as to why Riko called us back early and why he hadn’t barged into my room at the hotel. I don’t know what they said, but Riko thought it was your fault.”</p><p>Nathaniel fills in the blanks himself. </p><p>“<em>You slut. My real brother wasn’t enough, so you had to take Kevin too!?</em>”</p><p>Jean’s fingers tighten slightly on his bicep and his eyes seem to be silently pleading with Nathaniel. The redhead knows how it is at the Nest. Riko’s favorite games are the ones that pit partners against one another. He really should have seen this coming. Maybe Nathaniel just wants to believe that Jean wouldn’t have so easily played along with Riko’s games. Or maybe Nathaniel is bitter about Jean siding with Kevin instead of his own partner. </p><p>Either way, Nathaniel decides the two minutes are up. He pulls his arm out of Jean’s grip and averts his eyes. </p><p>“It’s whatever. I’m tired,” he mumbles and hobbles past Jean to collapse in his bed. </p><p>The sheets are clean and fresh, likely changed out by Jean. There are no signs of the old sheets, likely stained with blood and sweat. Jean walks back into the room a moment later. He sets the two pills on Nathaniel’s nightstand, but the younger backliner ignores it. Nathaniel closes his eyes but does not get any sleep before practice. He hears Jean get up a few hours later, but Nathaniel makes no move to rise from his bed. He waits until he hears the door to their room shut before opening his eyes. Jean and the pills are gone.</p><p>*****</p><p>A few days later, the Master issues an official press release early in the morning announcing the absence and leave of Kevin Day. A skiing accident. Nathaniel can’t hold back the laugh at that one. Kevin has never been skiing a day in his life. The press eats it up, though, and Riko makes sure to shed his fake tears for his brother. </p><p>Wymack follows up with a press release shortly after, announcing that Kevin had agreed to help coach the Foxes in the following spring season. Ravens fans naturally bash the former Raven-striker, calling him a traitor and a falling legend. Riko takes it all in gleefully. </p><p>When the new year comes around and the spring season is approaching, Wymack comes to the press with a new announcement that Kevin Day has officially signed with the Foxes and will be playing on their roster come the beginning of the season. The fans are outraged. Jean blanches when they all watch the press conference in the lounge. Riko lets out an inarticulate screech of rage. Nathaniel just laughs and laughs, even when Riko turns on him with fuming eyes and tries to quiet him with his fists. </p><p>Later that night, he’s discreetly called up to the Tower. He naturally hesitates, not having been summoned by Ichirou for weeks now. He can’t help the dread that begins to unfurl in his gut. And when he steps foot into the East Tower, the dread sprouts into a flower in full bloom. Sasha sits on the couch waiting for him. They don’t stay there, of course. </p><p>*****</p><p>Nathaniel’s food begins to taste like chalk. Everything does lately. He’s not that hungry if he’s being honest. Jean encourages him to eat, telling him he needs to keep his strength up. Nathaniel <em>knows</em> that, but if they’re so concerned about their strength and their health, maybe they should start with not beating them instead of providing healthy, balanced meals. Just a thought. </p><p>He still eats the food, forcing the bland tasting gunk down his throat. He only throws up a bit of it later.</p><p>*****</p><p>It’s after a night with Sasha and a particularly brutal practice that Nathaniel collapses on the court. He wakes up in the nurse’s office to see the nurse and the Master whispering back and forth at one another. When they notice he’s awake, Nathaniel’s greeted with two rather cool gazes. He’s injured his right knee, but that’s not a surprise considering the fact that Riko took a knife to it just a few days before. They send him back to his room after watching him eat a meal—he shoves it down his throat, not thinking about the taste—and give him strict orders to be on bed rest for the remainder of the day. They tell him to take some of his pain medicine to deal with his “muscle aches.” Nathaniel stares down the Master when he says such, but the man meets his gaze unwavering, not flinching once. </p><p>
  <em>Muscle aches, m u s c l e a c h e s.</em>
</p><p>When he reaches his room, he practically throws open his nightstand drawer in search of the pain medicine. He typically doesn’t take them, even when ordered to. So he’s not exactly sure why he went searching for them right away, but he finds his drawer empty. Odd but maybe he left them in the bathroom. Not there either. </p><p>He scours the room but comes up empty-handed. He knows he did not already go through that whole bottle. He barely touches it. </p><p>It’s a fleeting thought, really, that makes him turn towards his partner’s side of the room. He approaches Jean’s bed and nightstand more out of curiosity. Or rather the need to knock aside this insane idea of his. </p><p>Nathaniel finds himself sifting through Jean’s nightstand drawer, under his bed, through his desk, and finally, his hand touches something that rattles when he reaches down between the wall and Jean’s bed frame. His hand grips the plastic bag, pulls it up, and he’s staring at two bottles of pills. On the label of one reads <em>Nathaniel Wesninski.</em></p><p>The bottle only has a few pills remaining. It was nearly full last time Nathaniel touched it. </p><p>He waits until Jean returns later that day to confront him. Nathaniel really didn’t have a choice in that matter, but he realizes it might not be the best idea, considering the waiting just allowed his rage to build and build and build until it’s a raging inferno tearing into his chest. </p><p>Then again, Jean isn’t full of too many good ideas either, at the moment. </p><p>“What the hell is this!?” Nathaniel snarls as soon as Jean sets foot in their room. </p><p>His partner’s mouth is curved down in a sort of sympathetic manner when he opens the door. He is likely going to ask Nathaniel how he is doing or something like that, but when he sees the bag of pills in Nathaniel’s hand, understands what he’s talking about, his mouth and expression flattens. </p><p>“Well?” Nathaniel prods when Jean doesn’t answer, flames of rage licking across his insides.</p><p>“Nothing,” Jean says, his voice soft but his eyes hard. “Forget about it.”</p><p>Nathaniel nearly throws the bag at Jean in pure frustration—<em>forget about it!?</em>—but then figures that might be just what Jean wants, so Nathaniel clenches the bag even closer to his body, noticing how Jean’s tenses. </p><p>“You know I’m not going to!” Nathaniel hisses back. He shakes that bag once again so the sound of rattling pills fills the room. “What the hell are you doing with these? Are you <em>stupid</em>!? Do you know what could happen if anyone found out? Do you know what could happen <em>to you</em> if no one noticed?!”</p><p>“Oh, come off it Nathaniel!” Jean barks back, his shoulders bunched. “Kevin drank all the time and no one gave a fuck!”</p><p>“This is <em>different</em>!” </p><p><em>I don’t care about Kevin</em>, Nathaniel wanted to scream. <em>I care about you!</em></p><p>“No, it’s not,” Jean says in that sure-as-anything attitude that’s so much like Kevin that Nathaniel sees red for a second. </p><p>“Kevin was never drunk when he set foot on the court. Have you ever been on these while playing?”</p><p>Nathaniel sees a flash of <em>something</em> cross Jean’s face. It’s just enough for Nathaniel to know he was right. </p><p>Jean steels his jaw. “I have it under control.”</p><p>Nathaniel lets out a hard laugh. “That’s what everyone says.”</p><p>“Even you?” Jean counters. </p><p>Nathaniel narrows his eyes. “Don’t be turning this on me—“</p><p>“Why not?” Jean takes a step closer, his eyes wild. “This place—you can’t just—Kevin drank. You do—whatever you do. I’ve never judged you for that or asked questions. This is how I deal with it. This is how I cope. You can’t judge me for that.”</p><p>The grip Nathaniel has on the plastic bag begins to weaken. Jean stands in front of him waiting. Nathaniel’s heart threatens to break out from his chest at Jean’s mention of his…tasks. He always wondered how much Jean really knew about it all. He’s still not sure his partner is telling the whole truth. </p><p>Nathaniel swallows and says, “These could kill you.” It is a half-hearted rebuttal; they both know that. </p><p>Jean smiles wryly. “I can’t <em>wait</em>.”</p><p>Nathaniel shakes his head back and forth. “I’m not going to let you do this to yourself.”</p><p>“You don’t get to ‘let’ me do anything,” Jean pushes back. He holds out his hand. “Give them to me.”</p><p>“I should tell the Master,” Nathaniel remarks, knowing he’s getting into nasty territory now. “He can make you stop.”</p><p>The threat does the trick. Jean’s eyes darken and he takes a step forward. Nathaniel counters it with a step back. Jean lunges right; Nathaniel goes left. They grapple back and forth for a moment before Nathaniel manages to get a head start on Jean—even with his injured knee—and dash into the bathroom. He slams the door shut and locks it right as Jean runs into it from the other side. </p><p>“Nathaniel, open the door!” Jean shouts, shoving up against it. </p><p>The younger backliner steps away from the door, watching as it shudders in its frame. Jean is a big guy. If he keeps this up, he could break through the door. Nathaniel only has so much time. </p><p>“I won’t let you do this to yourself,” Nathaniel repeats. He dumps the contents of the bag out onto the counter. The two nearly empty pill bottles rattle as they fall into the sink. </p><p>“Nathaniel!” Jean’s voice booms and he pounds on the door. “Do <em>not</em> do this! Nathaniel! Listen to me!”</p><p>He shuts his partner out, unscrews the lids to both bottles, dumps the contents into the toilet, and hits the lever. Jean’s threats turn into pleas, but Nathaniel doesn’t move as he watches the pills swirl down the toliet.</p><p>*****</p><p>Today is Nathaniel’s birthday. Sasha sends him another gift box that remains under Nathaniel’s bed. Riko gathers all the Ravens into the lounge and demands they celebrate. Jean is there, as per Riko’s orders, but he sits on the other side of the room and avoids looking over at Nathaniel. The other Ravens have noticed the little spat between Jean and Nathaniel and have taken advantage of it.</p><p>“Little Nathaniel is growing right before our very eyes,” Riko purrs. His thumb presses right over the spot on his left cheekbone where the number 4 would be. Jean took 3 when he officially became a Raven. “Soon you’ll join the ranks and be on my perfect court.”</p><p>“How can it be perfect if you’re missing a number?” The words are out of Nathaniel’s mouth in the next second. </p><p>The rest of the Ravens quiet down, and Riko’s gaze just darkens as he pulls away. He slams a water bottle into Nathaniel’s chest. </p><p>“Drink,” he says—orders. “We’re going to watch a little movie.”</p><p>Nathaniel is forced down onto the couch, sandwiched between Riko and Samson. He tries to shrink away, but the two just seem to press closer to him. </p><p>“Drink,” Riko repeats. The water bottle is one of Kevin’s—filled to the brim with vodka instead of water. </p><p>The “movie” Riko turns on isn’t a movie at all. It’s a recording of one of the Foxes games. Kevin stands on the court. Nathaniel laughs and says something about him looking good in orange.</p><p>“I <em>said</em>,” Riko hisses, snatching  the water bottle from his hands. Two Ravens wrench Nathaniel’s head back. “<em>Drink</em>.”</p><p>*****</p><p>They corner him in the showers again. He’s alone and outnumbered and weak and fragile. He hits the ground hard and remembers struggling and screaming for a bit, but then he blacks out. When he wakes up, his head is too heavy and foggy to be normal. His knee is aching again. It’s not bleeding—he can see that much—but it’s pulsing with pain. He hobbles back to his room, considers taking some pain medicine, remembers that Jean has his. His partner has moved his stash; Nathaniel’s not naive enough to think Jean got rid of it all.</p><p>Sasha shows up again that night. He’s angry and Nathaniel is just confused. He doesn’t understand what’s happened in the showers, with Jean, with Sasha. To his horror, he begins to cry when they reach the apartment, and it only builds. He holds his arms up, silently signaling Sasha to stop or pause because his voice isn’t working right now. But the Russian disregards Nathaniel’s panicked gestures, and pushes his arms aside and shoves the small redhead onto the bed, stomach down. </p><p>“No, no—<em>Please, wait. I don’t—I don’t—</em>“</p><p>
  <em>Understand? Want this?</em>
</p><p>Sasha grunts and shoves his down harder until Nathaniel’s pleas are silenced by the silk pillowcase. He squeezes his eyes shut, tears soaking the surrounding fabric. Rough hands rake over his body and pain is the only thing that follows. He cuts everything off and floats.</p><p>*****<br/>
</p><p>Nathaniel’s body <em>aches</em>. He sits atop the roof of the stadium, dangerously close to the edge as always. The heels of his sock-clad feet hit the exterior of the building each time he swings them back. Part of him wonders how much force it would take to send him spiraling forward and off the side of the stadium. He doesn’t weigh much—Jean says he’s been losing too much weight. Surely he wouldn’t need a whole lot of force, right? A fall from this height he knows would likely kill him. He’s thought about it before—jumping. But he’s never gone through with it. Does that make him a coward? He doesn’t know because dying would be easy, right? He just has to push forward a bit and let gravity do the rest. Living would be the hard part. He would still have to face all the bullshit he puts up with on a day-to-day basis if he continues living. Therefore, according to that logic, doesn’t not jumping off the side of the building make him brave? He’d certainly like to think so. Then again, he’s not really sure how much of the matter is in his own hands. </p><p>Nathaniel releases the smoke from the cigar, watches as it curls up into the night sky and disappears. It’s warmer outside now with spring well on its way through. The Raven’s won the spring championship. Surprise, surprise. He knows Riko took the victory with smug satisfaction. There was no doubt the Ravens would win, but with the previous talk that Kevin was the more promising of the two, it did a great thing to Riko’s ego to see the Foxes eliminated so early on and for the Raven’s to claim victory once again with him alone leading the flock. </p><p>Nathaniel rolls his eyes and takes another drag of the cigar. He hates it. The smoke makes him feel nauseous as it swirls around in his empty stomach, and he’s reminded of a certain Russian each time he pulls one out. Yet, he still brings the box with him to the roof every time he goes up there. And honestly, it hasn’t been much in the past few months. Riko’s been adamant about keeping Nathaniel on lock-down, but tonight the redhead managed to sneak away. Was it smart? Probably not, but not many things Nathaniel did nowadays were. </p><p>Nathaniel stares out, eyes tracing the city skyline in the distance. His fingers run deep into the bones and muscles of his right knee. He’ll be a senior next year. Only one more year until he joins the Ravens, though next year will be when he begins to step into the spotlight as a recruit. He wonders how different it’ll be—if at all. The press exposure will definitely be new, but underneath all that, he’ll still be here—in the Nest, in the Tower, in the Apartment. </p><p>It’s ironic really. All those hours he spends running on the court and he still feels stuck. </p><p>He leans forward a bit, relishing in the breeze that rakes through his curls and carries the cigar smoke away. It’s too dark outside to see the ground beneath him. He wonders how much it’ll take to change things up. And even more so, if he can afford to take it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm back! It's been crazy but I shot out this chapter for y'all. More angst and sadness :( I'm literally breaking my own heart. But Andrew was mentioned in this chapter! And Palmetto interaction is happening very very soon!!!</p><p>The time skips towards the end were intentional. I wanted some bits and pieces to be unclear/left out, so they can be explored later when he's at Palmetto. Just creating some suspense for yall ;)</p><p>Anywho, let me know how you like it by leaving a comment, kudos, etc. I love any form of interaction.</p><p>Also I'm currently on pain meds &amp; wrote this in one night, so lmk if you spot any errors and I will try to fix it.</p><p>Thank you so much for all the support I've been getting so far &amp; thanks for reading</p><p>-orth</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Marked for Death</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first thought that cuts through the confusion swarming Nathaniel’s mind is <em>Jean.</em></p><p>Nathaniel’s eyes fly open and his breath leaves him in a sharp exhale. The darkness surrounding him is familiar—but the gentle breeze carrying the approaching summer humidity; the distant sound of engines revving; the yellow light coming from the light attached to a nearby building; the rough pavement beneath his cheek—all that is unfamiliar. </p><p>Nathaniel sucks in a breath. His right cheek scrapes painfully against the pavement, but his left cheek throbs even more. His eyes trace the slanted scenery in front of him. Even in the dark of night, the small light provides just enough visibility. Plus that God-awful orange practically glows in the dark. </p><p>His chest feels as if it’s collapsing in on itself. A bitter taste begins to rise from the depths of his stomach, trailing up, up, <em>up</em> until he has no choice but to spew it out. He lets out a shaky breath and digs his bloody and broken fingernails into the pavement. </p><p>
  <em>No, no, no. Riko you didn’t.</em>
</p><p>The hysteria releases with his breath and Nathaniel is scrambling upwards. A moment too late he releases why that’s a bad idea. He lets out a cry into the night as sharp agony resonates throughout his body. Nathaniel halts, taking strong and unsteady breaths in and out through his nose. He’s bleeding. He can tell without having to feel, but his hand still snakes under the jersey he’s wearing—<em>Kevin’s jersey</em>—and touches his ribs, his stomach, his chest. He flinches away from his own touch, the wounds scream. He muffles his own whimper by biting his lip. Iron blooms in his mouth, washing down the bile. </p><p>Nathaniel pulls his hand out. The jersey falls right back to plastering itself against his skin. He hisses as the rough fabric makes contact with his wounds again. The light nearby allows him to see the thick blood that’s coating his hand. </p><p>
  <em>“Shit.”</em>
</p><p>And it’s not only his upper body. Two of his fingers are broken. He doesn’t think he has a concussion this time around, but the dried blood flaking on his forehead tells him he could be wrong. His knee is bleeding and sore. The right again. Riko always goes for the right one. Nathaniel hesitantly bends the trembling limb towards his body, trying to hold back the moan of pain when his knee aches in protest. </p><p>He barely registers the addition sting when he drops it back to the ground. His breath is coming out much too fast and shallow for him to pay attention to must else. A whistle slowly begins to build somewhere behind his eyes. </p><p><em>“Riko, what did you do?”</em> he wheezes</p><p>The striker wouldn’t hurt him permanently. He <em>wouldn’t</em>. This is all a game to him, but it isn’t the most important one. Nathaniel is still to be a Raven. The main branch hasn’t cast him aside yet. He is still <em>useful.</em></p><p>Against his better judgment, Nathaniel drags himself a few yards away so he can rest against the stadium walls. Blood smears across the pavement, leaving a river of ink in his wake. His legs feel as if they’re about to pop off. His biceps and broken fingers weep, but he digs his teeth in and holds steady. </p><p>
  <em>Come on, Nathaniel. You’ve dealt with worse than this. M o v e.</em>
</p><p>When he collapses against the wall, sweat is dripping down his face. Blood from his knee has spread across his bare legs, seeped into the briefs that barely show under Kevin’s old jersey. </p><p>
  <em>“Say hi to Kevin for me. I’m sure he misses you.”</em>
</p><p>Nathaniel’s lips curl into a sneer as he tries to cover up the whine that was forcing its way out. Riko basically crippled him and then dropped him off in Palmetto. In South Carolina. Hours away from West Virginia and the Nest, with no way to get back. </p><p>Nathaniel gazes across the parking lot. He sees lights, some from street lamps, others from inside buildings. In theory, he could walk. In practice is a different story. And even if he could move, where would he go? He has no money to travel back. If he shows up like this to anyone, they’re likely to call the police. Hitch-hiking is unrealistic and too dangerous. He’s stuck. </p><p>“Fuck!” He shouts—the word harsh and grating against his abused throat. He brings his fist up to hit the side of the building simultaneously. Both sounds echo into the night, and Nathaniel is left there panting, bleeding, and aching.  </p><p>His eyes catch onto a small black box that sits a few feet away nearly concealed by shadows. His brain recognizes it in an instant and he steels himself before dragging himself over to the object. He crashes onto the pavement, filling open the chunky burner phone with quivering fingers. There’s only one message:</p><p>
  <em>Show me you can still be useful and bring him back. You won’t be welcomed home otherwise. Prove to me that I haven’t made a mistake in choosing my court, Nathaniel.</em>
</p><p>His hand flies to his left cheek as soon as he finishes reading the message. His broken fingers meet the bandage. Riko marked him. Nathaniel knows without having to see it that a perfectly inked 4 lies under the patch on his cheek. He isn’t supposed to be inked until he officially joined the Ravens, but Riko forced it on him a year early. </p><p>
  <em>“You should be thankful.”</em>
</p><p>He remembers hearing Riko’s voice spit in his ear while his thugs hold Nathaniel down. They were in some room. He doesn’t remember which. He was on the roof when Jean burst through the door yelling, telling Nathaniel he had to leave because of what’d happened to Kengo. Nathaniel was confused and taken aback by Jean’s panicked demeanor and frantic voice. Jean never got to explain himself because Riko found him a few moments later, eyes dancing with promised pain and hand itching for something sharp. </p><p>He remembers seeing Riko’s fist come flying towards him. Nathaniel knows it hit him. He’s lucky he didn’t fall off the roof. The rest of his recollection is spotty. Kengo was hurt—that he knows for sure. And Riko…Riko was blaming him for it? Someone Nathaniel was involved. He remembers Jean hovering off to the side, anxious and pale-faced despite the fact that they hadn’t talked for weeks. Everything grew hazy after that point. He knows Riko must’ve brought out the knives, marked him up in more one than one. </p><p>
  <em>“Even after all your mistake, all you short-comings, I still gave you a number, Nathaniel. Number four. You know what that means in Japanese, don’t you? You’re literally marked with death, for death. You always have been. This only makes it known to the rest of the world.”</em>
</p><p>A wet cough bubbles up from Nathaniel’s throat and within seconds he’s laughing hysterically in a parking lot in South Carolina. He brings his hands up to cover his face, pressing the palms on his bloodied hands into his eyes. </p><p><em>Stupid. Stupid. Stupid</em>, he berates himself. He can feel his mother’s nails digging into his hair. He can hear Lola’s laughter echo in his head. <em>How could you be so stupid, Nathaniel? You got too lax, too reckless. No one is indispensable. They threw you out like a stray dog.</em></p><p><em>Bring him back</em>, the message had said.</p><p>Kevin. Riko wants Kevin. Of course, he does. Kevin has denied Riko his true victory. Riko wants Kevin to crash and burn without him, for the world to see that <em>Riko</em> is the better of the two. He wants Kevin to beg and wilt and come crawling back. But none of that seems to have happened. Kevin had signed with a low-ranked Exy team that barely passes as Class I and is going nowhere, but Riko is petty and he doesn’t like Kevin getting any attention from the press. The story isn’t going according to his plans, so he’ll rewrite it. </p><p><em>So he sent me?</em> Nathaniel thinks the hysteria boiling over the edge of the pot and spilling all over. <em>Riko wants me to do his dirty work for him?</em></p><p>Nathaniel is about to curse Riko right into next week, and he would have no qualms doing so—normally, that is. Once more Nathaniel’s mind halts and he thinks <em>Jean.</em></p><p>
  <em>Jean is still in the Nest.</em>
</p><p>Part of him isn’t sure why he hesitates. Jean has been ignoring him even since Nathaniel flushed his first supply of pills down the toilet. He hasn’t come to Nathaniel’s rescue—not that he needs it. They have been mere roommates since that day. Nathaniel hates it.</p><p>But deep down he knows why he falters. Jean is his partner. He knows it and Riko knows it too. Nathaniel is out of the Nest—not free from it, never free from it. But Jean is still inside with Riko and his goons and the Master. </p><p>
  <em>Step out of line and Jean pays the price.</em>
</p><p>“Fuck, think, <em>think</em>,” Nathaniel chants, tugging on his matted hair and looking around. </p><p>There’s a bus stop. He sees the sign. He can probably get there, but once again, no money. And he’s in no condition to be stealing some cash or go hitchhiking. Fuck. He could always camp out, maybe sneak into one of the campus buildings or a dorm when the sun rises. Nathaniel should be able to find some clothes and medical supplies somewhere. He just needs to keep his wounds clean until then to minimize the issue. Patch himself up, hang low, but then what? Riko made it clear he couldn’t come back—even if he made it to West Virginia—without Kevin. Double fuck. </p><p>Nathaniel’s thoughts freeze in their tracks when a bright light shines across the parking lot and onto Nathaniel’s crumpled figure. The redhead lowers his hand and covers his eyes out of instinct, all the while his heart clenches, his breath becoming dangerously soft like it would when he and his mother were about to be caught. But he can’t run now. He can barely stand. Nathaniel has no choice but to remain motionless there on the pavement as the truck approaches. </p><p>His heart has kicked up again, this time racing with fervor. The chances of it being Riko or The Master is unlikely. Then again, Riko loves his games. It’s not Ichirou. Not Sasha—it can’t be Sasha. Nathaniel grips the burner phone in his hand once more. It’s pathetic, but it’s the only object he has to defend himself. He doubts a phone is going to do much damage, but his instincts are on full alert, causing his skin to prickle and hissing at him with a voice eerily similar to his mom’s. <em>Defend yourself! Don’t let them touch you!</em></p><p>Nathaniel bares his teeth as the truck slides to a halt, his muscles tense in preparation for a fight, despite the abuse they’ve already been put through. The driver’s side door rips open and out steps a large man. Nathaniel’s immediately cringing back. His throat closes up, and his brain is filled with the sounds of clanging knives and sharp laughs. His wounds feel as if they’re being split open again and he’s filled with a new sense of pain. He’s being pushed down, down, down until he lands on the hard, blood-stained concrete of the basement. </p><p>
  <em>“It’s time for your next lesson Nathaniel.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They sent his father.</em>
</p><p>“Woah, woah, kid! Take it easy! Take it easy!” A voice yells—a voice that definitely does not belong to his father. </p><p>Nathaniel’s mind clears, his eyes refocus. He realizes he threw the cellphone. It’s no longer in his hand but instead lays on the ground a few feet away from the car. </p><p>“Hey, hey. It’s okay. You’re—you’re okay.” </p><p>The man sounds conflicted, his voice strangled when he says the last few words. Nathaniel can imagine why. He assumes he’s not the most pleasant sight at the moment, half-naked, feral, and covered in blood in the parking lot of the Palmetto Exy stadium. And then the man says something that has Nathaniel’s attention snapping right back to him. </p><p>“You’re Nathaniel, right?”</p><p>The Raven’s backliner assesses the man carefully. He’s in sweats and a short sleeve t-shirt, fitting for the late spring. The attire allows Nathaniel to see the tribal tattoos that wrap up and around the man’s forearms. The nauseous feeling is back in the pit of Nathaniel’s stomach, his throat. He’s seen those same tattoos many times during the press conferences he’s forced to watch at the Nest. </p><p>“I’m David Wymack. The coach of the Exy team here at Palmetto,” he slowly explains, his eyes raking over Nathaniel’s form. There’s something cautious and troubled about his gaze, but there’s just enough anger hidden behind it all that Nathaniel stay tense and ready for a fight. </p><p>The man takes a few steps closer, stepping away from his truck and closer to Nathaniel who reveals his teeth once again. </p><p>“I’m not going to hurt you. I promise,” Wymack assures him holding his hands up in what’s supposed to be a placating gesture. In one of his hands rests his own cell phone. He shakes it, bringing Nathaniel’s attention to the object. </p><p>“I got a call from an unknown number a bit ago,” he says. “Told me there was something dumped at the stadium that might need some help.”</p><p>Some<em>thing</em>. Some <em>thing</em>. Sounds about right.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello! A little piece for yall! Hope you like it ;) Let me know your thoughts. Leave a kudos, comment, anything. Any form of interaction is appreciated. </p><p>Also, I need to be more ~structured~ so from now on I'm going to try to stay on a strict schedule of updating once a week. I don't know what day that's going to be, but up until now, I've kinda been all over the place. So, yes, updates once a week</p><p>Thanks for reading!!</p><p>-orth</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Unwanted Reunion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wymack ends up convincing Nathaniel to climb into his truck after about thirty minutes of coaxing and patience. Nathaniel only moves after he’s come to the conclusion that, contrary to what he believed earlier, he probably can’t make it far with how he is now. And he doesn’t think Wymack would be one to just let him go—not with his tendency to take in battered strays. </p><p>Nathaniel is both ashamed and frustrated when he’s unable to properly lift himself and ends up having to allow Wymack to help him into the passenger’s side of the truck. He doesn’t know where the man is going. Normally, this would send him into a panic—being in a car with a complete stranger, unsure of where he’s being taken. But no warning bells are going off in his head, perhaps due to the pulsating agony that’s otherwise preoccupying his thoughts.</p><p>The moving—that definitely didn’t make him feel better. His wounds throb with newfound vigor, despite the growing heaviness in his limbs. He leans his forehead against the glass window, relishing in the coolness it provides. It feels nice against his feverish skin. His blood is undoubtedly getting all over the seats. He absentmindedly thinks about how hard it’ll be to get blood out of fabric seats. </p><p> A particularly sharp ache pangs in his right knee, causing his entire leg to jerk. His foot hits a hard metal box laying on the floor and Neil groans in pain. He turns toward the door even more, pressing further into the window until doing so is almost painful. </p><p>The light from the street lamps washes over the car interior as they drive. Wymack may be speeding. He’s unsure. He’s also unsure if the world around him is darkening because the street lamps are going out or if it’s because his eyes are starting to drift close. </p><p>“Hey, kid. I need you to stay awake. We’re almost there.”</p><p>“‘m not a kid,” Nathaniel mumbles back. He receives a snort. </p><p><em>I’m not</em>, he insists, but the words don’t make it past his busted lips. His left hand grapples with the blood-soaked jersey that lays flat against his abdomen. The thick fabric squelches as he pulls it away from his skin and wrings his hands in it. Wymack says what he’s thinking: </p><p>“Shit.”</p><p>Nathaniel sags against the window completely and focuses on his shallow and quick breaths for the rest of the ride. He doesn’t know how much longer it takes to reach their destination, but when the truck jerks to a halt, his eyes snap open. He blinks, trying to focus on the house in front of him. The porch lights are on and a woman rushes out of the door. </p><p>The passenger side door Nathaniel is leaning heavily against suddenly disappears and he’s tipping sideways. He wills his limbs to move, but they stay still and stiff, as if concrete has been poured and hardened in his joints. Wymack’s arms wrap around Nathaniel as he begins to fall towards the concrete driveway. Another strangled moan escapes his mouth as the older man’s fingers press against his wounds. </p><p>“I know, <em>I know</em>—Fuck—<em>Abby</em>!”</p><p>The woman is soon at Wymack’s side, helping him support Nathaniel as the two bring him into the house. Normally, the redhead would put up more of a fight, but his brain is barely tethered to his body. He faintly realizes that this is the first house he’s been in since visiting the vacation home his father keeps close to the Nest. But this house looks nothing like that one. It’s nicer. Homier.</p><p>Nathaniel is set down on the living room carpet. It’s close and more comfortable than the hardwood floor. He hears the two conversing over him. Their voices sound muffled and delayed in his ears. </p><p>“—don’t know! I found him like this.”</p><p>“He’s losing a lot of blood. He’ll go into shock soon if we don’t stop the bleeding.”</p><p>Nathaniel feels hands graze the bottom of the jersey that rests on his thighs. His body jerks into motion at the unwelcomed touch. A hand of his shoots out and snags the hand near his thigh. The sudden movement causes him to wince. It’s like salt is being poured directly into his wounds, causing them to tighten and twist uncomfortably. His eyes crack open and he stares at the blonde lady leaning over him. Her face is pale and her expression is one of surprise. </p><p>“No,” Nathaniel grounds out, trying to put as much conviction behind it as he can. The words come out as a mere exhale of breath. </p><p>“Nathaniel.” Wymack’s voice now feels too loud in his ears. “She’s trying to help. Let her help.”</p><p>His muscles quiver with the exertion required to lift his arm. His broken fingers pulse sharply, despite the rather loose grip he has on her wrist. He lets his head fall back against the carpet but keeps his weak grip on her wrist. His entire arm trembles horribly.</p><p>“<em>No</em>.” He’s horrified when the words come out as more of a whine than anything else.</p><p>“Nathaniel, you’re very hurt,” the woman says, her voice calm. There’s still a bit of urgency under it. Nathaniel can sense it as easily as he’s been able to before. “I need to take the jersey off so I can stop the bleeding. I’ll be as quick as I can, okay?”</p><p>He digs his nails into her skin, tries to think but <em>he can’t</em>. He can’t put together <em>anything</em>. He doesn’t want—he’s not okay with other people’s hands on him. Not now. But he can feel the blood slowly oozing out of his wounds, making him colder and lighter. Nathaniel grits his teeth, and his hand drops. He lays boneless against the carpet. The adrenaline he had in the parking lot has drained away. </p><p>The lady waits a moment before reaching back for the hem of the jersey. Nathaniel locks his jaw as she carefully peels up the soaked fabric, lifting it from his open wounds. He left out another choked groan. Once his full chest is one display, he hears a gasp from the women and a curse from Wymack. Nathaniel knows it’s not a pretty sight normally. With Riko’s artwork, it must look much worse. He turns his head into the carpet, smelling iron and sweat. He tries to squeeze away the wetness in his eyes. </p><p>But when her fingers prod against the bloody and inflamed skin of his abdomen, Nathaniel tries to wrench himself away from her. Wymack is on his other side, preventing Nathaniel from going anywhere. It’s not like he could go far, but he’s intent on getting away from her soft touches against his heavily scarred front. </p><p>Wymack’s hand settles on his shoulders, trying to get him to relax against the ground once again. But he doesn’t react well to being pinned, not by an older and larger man. Nathaniel twists and tries to push up. His efforts are futile, but he still hears Wymack curse above him. Fresh blood leaks from his cuts and runs down his chest. </p><p>“Nathaniel! Calm down! You’re making it worse—!”</p><p>His eyes are open, but he doesn’t know if he’s really seeing anything. He just wants some space. He needs these hands off of him and the burning sensation to <em>leave</em> so he can <em>breathe</em>. </p><p>“Jesus, kid,” he hears Wymack snarl, and Nathaniel shrinks back with a small cry when he hits the sensitive part of his head. </p><p>Another smaller hand rests itself on his upper arm. The woman’s. A sharp jab follows her touch and a wave of numbness slowly begins to sink in and settle into his bones. It takes Nathaniel’s a moment to catch up with what just happened. She gave him a shot. She <em>drugged</em> him. </p><p>His lips try to move around the word ‘<em>No</em>,’ but his mouth won’t cooperate. Within minutes, Nathaniel is sinking under. </p><p>*****</p><p>He dreams of black and red. Black carpet. Red couches. Black and red walls. The other Ravens are there, dressed in red and black attire. That’s all Nathaniel ever sees. Red and Black. Red blood. Black bruises. And Riko’s there, the black stain against Nathaniel’s red canvas. </p><p>He hands the redhead a bottle and snarls, “<em>Drink</em>.”</p><p>It doesn’t have a color. It’s clear and it makes him gag as gulps it down in mouthfuls. His head is too heavy and limbs too sluggish. He can’t play Exy like this. He can barely keep on his feet. One of the Ravens realizes this. </p><p>“<em>Here, let me help you</em>,” he says. Arms wrap around Nathaniel’s weakened body, pressing into the red and black marks littering his form drawing him closer until Nathaniel is lost in a sea of red and black. </p><p>He hears laughter around him and sees cutting smiles. Riko turns on the TV. Kevin is on the screen. Nathaniel turns away, not wanting to see the bright eyes. It doesn’t match the harsh black and red of the Nest. He pivots too quickly. His feet can’t catch up and he falls towards the floor. The other Ravens stand around him and laugh, allowing it to happen. </p><p>A pair of arms clutch Nathaniel last minute, pressing him against warm and bare skin. Russian words are murmured into his ear. Nathaniel sees red sheets in front of him before he’s pushed down and all he sees is black. </p><p>“<em>It’s time for another lesson, Nathaniel</em>.” </p><p>*****</p><p>“Nathaniel.”</p><p> Said boy’s eyes snap open when he hears his name. His muscles bunch for just a moment—his heart launches itself up into his throat—but then his brain registers the soft, feminine voice that spoke his name. His gaze moves from being locked onto the beige ceiling and he looks at the woman standing to his left. It’s the blonde lady from the night before. She has a kind smile on her face, but Nathaniel can see the wrinkle of tension on her forehead and the dark circles under her eyes. </p><p>“Good morning. I came in to change your bandages. I didn’t want to wake you, but I figured it would be best if I did.”</p><p>Her smile falters for a moment, and Nathaniel already knows what she’s thinking, or rather remembering—the way he panicked when she brushed her hands on his thighs and stomach and chest. She must think he wouldn’t react well if she began to change the bandages while he was still asleep. Her assumption would be correct. </p><p>Nathaniel blinks at her multiple times. Whatever’s in his body still has him feeling a bit loopy and unsure of himself. His head is more clear than last night, however, and he does feel better. His gaze returns to the ceiling. </p><p>“If I don’t let you are you going to drug me again?”</p><p>He doesn’t have to see the woman’s face to know she’s hurt by his words. Nathaniel isn’t sorry for speaking them. He just wants to be left alone. </p><p>“Nathaniel, I’m—I only did that so I could help you. I’m sorry that’s what I had to do, but you were getting very upset and I had to calm you down if I wanted—“</p><p>“It’s fine. I understand,” he says. “Just do what you have to do and then leave. I’m tired.”</p><p>He closes his eyes again and tries not to show how much he’s affected by her hands lifting his shirt—he notes that he’s in <em>completely</em> new clothing—and pressing against his bare skin. Oddly enough, he’s not as disgusted by her touch as he expects to be. It’s the general concept of other people’s hands on him that has his skin crawling. He’s used to rough and possessive touches that are meant to bring pain or control or humiliation in some way. Her hands are soft and warm and her touch is light against his skin, bringing no unnecessary discomfort. She does the whole process quickly, yet doesn’t rush. Nathaniel notices that she purposely keeps at least one hand close to or on his skin the entire time so he knows exactly where her hands are or are going to be at all times. She tells him when she’s done with his chest and stomach and when she’s moving to change the bandages on his face and knee. He flinches at first when her fingers graze his face but settles once he gets used to the feeling.</p><p>When she’s done, she leaves quietly. Nathaniel finally allows his mental barriers to retreat once he’s alone again. The exhaustion washes over him full force and before he knows it, he’s asleep.</p><p>The second time he wakes up, it’s to the sound of a door slamming open downstairs. The bright light seeping into the room from around the curtains tells him it’s still daytime, although he’s not sure what time exactly. </p><p>He hears voices downstairs—too many to be only Wymack and the woman. A cold feeling begins to wash over him as the voices begin to rise in volume. He hears a familiar one asked in a panicked voice:</p><p>“Where is he?”</p><p>Nathaniel sits straight up in bed. His wounds burn and he feels his stitches tug painfully against his sensitive skin, but he’s too concerned about the owner of the voice who currently stands just downstairs. His heart is suddenly racing in his chest. He hasn’t seen Kevin in months and he has no desire to be reunited with the striker anytime soon. </p><p>More yelling comes from downstairs. Nathaniel doesn’t hear what is said, too busy scrambling out of bed to find some way to get out of this place without having to cross paths with Kevin. His right leg gets caught underneath the heavy comforter and he clumsily falls to the ground, his bony hip hitting the—thankfully, <em>carpeted</em>—floor. He lets out a sharp gasp when the comforter brushes over his injured knee, but he’s quick to push himself fully to his feet, the adrenaline blocking out whatever pain he’s feeling. </p><p>The panic and paranoia that was always right underneath the surface when he and his mother were on the run is back and thrumming. He needs to <em>leave</em>. </p><p>Nathaniel hobbles over to the window and throws the curtains open. He’s on the second story. And there’s nothing within reaching or jumping distance that would help him get down to the ground. If he wasn’t in the shape he was currently in, he would likely risk jumping down into the flower bed. Doing that now would only cripple him even more. </p><p>Nathaniel grits his teeth in frustration and shoves away from the window. He’s making his way to the bedroom door when he hears movement from the other side. </p><p>“Little birdie,” a voice sings from the hallway. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”</p><p>“Andrew!” Wymack’s voice calls from somewhere further away. “Get your ass back down here!”</p><p>“Who is it?” Kevin’s frantic voice asks. </p><p>
  <em>Who?</em>
</p><p>Nathaniel connects the dots. Kevin knows there’s a Raven here. Nathaniel assumes Wymack told him such. But Kevin <em>doesn’t</em> know <em>which</em> Raven. Nathaniel’s lip curls and he retreats deeper into the room. He wishes Jean was here in his place. It would do <em>him</em> a lot more good. Nathaniel’s fate is already decided.</p><p>Nevertheless, his mother’s voice hisses in his ear: <em>If you’re cornered, you find something sharp and you fight.</em></p><p>He spots a pen on the nightstand, is struck with a memory from years ago right before he and his mother were caught after leaving the airport. The doorknob begins to turn right as Nathaniel lunges for the pen. Anything can be a weapon if you put enough force behind it. </p><p>The door to the bedroom swings open and Nathaniel turns around a second later, gripping the pen deathly tight. His broken fingers’ protests are ignored. Nathaniel locks eyes with one of the twins, presumably Andrew considering Wymack’s earlier shout. </p><p>The blond is grinning widely, almost bearing his teeth at Nathaniel. He’s short. Nathaniel knew that. He’s seen both Minyards next to the rest of their teammates, but the redhead always wondered if their height of five foot even was exaggerated in any way. The gear and padding always made them seem larger, but now seeing one of the twins here in front of him, Nathaniel could in fact confirm they were as short as their profile said they were. Nathaniel, however, personally knows that height has no correlation to how dangerous someone can be. Although Nathaniel would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about the extra muscle the blond seems to have on him. </p><p>“You flew a little far from your Nest, didn’t you?” Andrew says, still grinning. He takes a step into the room but keeps his body blocking the exit. His eyes rake up and down Nathaniel’s body and face, sees the way he’s slightly hunched over himself, sees the exposed bandages. Andrew makes a vague motion with his hand, gesturing about Nathaniel’s body and all over his face.“Ouch. I hope those aren’t too serious.”</p><p>His voice is anything but concerned, more <em>mocking</em> if anything. </p><p>“They’re fine,” Nathaniel grits back, shifting his grip on the pen. </p><p>“Glad to hear it!” Andrew claps his hands in mock enthusiasm, only once. “Sounds like you can fly right back to where you came from then. I’ll help you.”</p><p>Andrew takes another step into the room and Nathaniel shoulders bunch. “Stay away from me,” he snarls. </p><p>The goalkeeper’s eyes gleam and the curl of his mouth turns more vicious. He goes to say something, but another figure steps into sight behind Andrew. Nathaniel’s gaze unconsciously moves to look over the blond’s shoulder and his mouth instantly becomes slack. His blood stills and the striker’s name escapes his numb lips. </p><p>“Kevin,” he mumbles, the name out of his mouth in an instant. </p><p>The striker looks the exact same as when Nathaniel last saw him months ago. The redhead might even dare to say he looks better. Who knew how healthy it could be to escape the toxicity of the Nest? Riko is the worst of it—the game caller, so to speak—but the other Ravens played their part in the abuse as well, Kevin included. </p><p>And that’s when Nathaniel rights himself. This is Kevin. And the last time he had seen Kevin <em>was in the Nest</em>. So Nathaniel faces the striker as he would face him back in Edgar Allan. The redhead’s slack expression morphs into something cold and closed off. His eyes ice over and he adjusts his grip on the pen again. </p><p>Kevin, the idiot, is still staring at him with a look of disbelief. His green eyes are wide and the color has completely drained from his face. He towers over both Andrew and Nathaniel, but at that moment he looks small. Nathaniel sneers at him. <em>Pathetic as always.</em></p><p>“Nathaniel,” Kevin whispers, his mouth barely moving. </p><p>“Andrew,” Andrew quips. Nathaniel and Kevin both turn to look at the goalkeeper in confusion. “Great. Now that we’ve all introduced each other, let’s resume where we left off, shall we? Nate—what’s your name again? Nathan?—Nathan and I were actually just talking about him leaving.”</p><p>Nathaniel’s blood begins to race and it builds and builds. His mind blanks for a moment, rage the fear the only palpable feeling left. Kevin blanches from behind Andrew, looking at the blond in horror. That makes Nathaniel ever more pissed off, and he takes several steps forward. Andrew seems to inflate as Nathaniel advances; his smile peels itself back across his face and one of his hands reaches towards his forearm. </p><p>“Don’t call me that,” Nathaniel seethes. </p><p>Andrew cocks his head to the side, a taunting pout on his face that has Nathaniel’s fingers around the pen <em>itching</em>. “You shouldn’t be so sensitive. You need to toughen up Nathaniel.” He deliberately looks at Nathaniel’s injuries once again. “File that away for next time, no?”</p><p>And then Andrew cackles as if it’s the funniest thing ever. Nathaniel stares at the blond, his temper rising. He knows Andrew is crazy, but he’s never seen just <em>how</em> crazy. All the Foxes come from rough backgrounds, but it was no doubt that signing Andrew Minyard was the riskiest investment the Foxes have taken to this day. Nathaniel knows Andrew’s backstory because of Riko’s obsession with Kevin and anything Kevin-related. Andrew spent most of his life in the shitty foster care system before finding out he has a long-lost twin. He went to juvie for a while before meeting his family and playing house for a few months before everything went to shit. Andrew hangs around his brother, Aaron, and his cousin, Nicholas Hemmick. He got in trouble with the law again when he nearly beat four guys to death after he caught them attacking his cousin. The Court determined he is manic depressive and instead of locking him up again, they required him to go through intensive therapy and weekly counseling. He also has to dose up on medication that apparently makes him “less of a danger” to others and society. Nathaniel wonders how bad he must’ve been before if <em>this</em> is how he acts on his medicine and <em>this</em> is supposed to be the better, safer alternative. Despite all of his mix-ins with the law, Wymack, the saint, still signed him.</p><p>“Andrew! Kevin!” </p><p>Wymack appears in the hallway behind the striker. His eyes latch onto Nathaniel’s and the redhead can visibly see the sigh of relief the coach lets out. The older man’s eyes then harden and cut to his players. </p><p>“Go downstairs.”</p><p>“Coach!” Andrew says. He’s still staring down Nathaniel, his hand placed on his forearm. “We’re being civil! Honest. Kevin and I are being good hosts and giving this little birdie directions on how to fly back home.”</p><p>Wymack’s brows lower and he crosses his arms. “Well, he won’t be needing those because he’s not going back.”</p><p><em>That</em> certainly gets everyone’s attention. The faux-amusement is wiped off Andrew’s face and he turns to the older man. </p><p>“Oh, no, no, no. That won’t do. Coach? I know you didn’t say what I just thought you said.”</p><p>Meanwhile, a new sense of panic begins to build in the pit of Nathaniel’s stomach. He didn’t think about Wymack refusing to let him go. He can’t stay here. He <em>won’t.</em></p><p>“I have to leave,” Nathaniel says at the same time Kevin blurts out, “He has to go back.”</p><p>Nathaniel cuts an irritated glance in Kevin’s direction, but the striker is looking at his coach. The rage courses back to life at Kevin’s words. It’s all very disorienting. The panic and the anger switching back and forth like they’re two sides of a coin that’s constantly being flipped. </p><p>Kevin’s just trying to look after himself. That’s all he’s ever done and that’s all he’s ever been good at—save for Exy. He gets a little boo-boo—Riko turns on him and he feels an ounce of Riko’s rage and he just decides he can’t handle it anymore. He leaves and he doesn’t even look back. Doesn’t even <em>try</em> to help or <em>care</em> about <em>who</em> or <em>what</em> he left behind. Nathaniel suspected as much—he <em>knew</em>—but some part of him wondered? hoped?—for Jean’s sake more than his—that Kevin would prove him wrong. But Nathaniel is always left overestimating Kevin. And now—<em>now</em> Kevin was out and free, and Nathaniel shows up battered and bloody and Kevin Day has the nerve to say that Nathaniel can’t stay, that “<em>He has to go back.</em>” </p><p>“<em>Kevin is Riko’s brother. We are his possessions, Nathaniel</em>,” Jean always said.</p><p>Nathaniel took that as ‘<em>Kevin gets certain privileges we never get.</em>’ Apparently, safety and comfort are two of them. And Kevin has no qualms about throwing Nathaniel back to the wolves, or rather, more appropriately, <em>the Ravens</em>. </p><p>“Fuck you, Kevin Day,” he spits, putting as much rage behind his words as he can muster. The grief is there too, underlying it all. He hopes Kevin detects both. Based on the distraught look the striker gives Nathaniel once he turns around to face him, Kevin hears it all. <em>Good</em>.</p><p>“Nathaniel,” Kevin says—<em>stumbles</em>. The great media star, golden boy, Exy champion Kevin Day <em>stumbles</em> once again because of Nathaniel. “That’s not—that’s not what I meant. You know—“</p><p>“Downstairs,” Wymack says once again, his tone much more firm. </p><p>Yet Andrew barely bats an eye. He does roll them, however. Andrew lets out an extended sigh before pivoting around to leave the room. Kevin files in line after him.</p><p>“Fine, fine,” he says. “We haven’t even gotten to the best part of our talk, so don’t go running off Nate!”</p><p>Andrew walks away laughing, once again, like that’s the funniest thing ever. Kevin follows, hissing something at Andrew but too quietly for the redhead to hear. Of course, Nathaniel can barely stand straight at the moment. He’s not going to be running any time soon. That thought sinks like a lone stone in his stomach and he grinds his teeth together as the blond loudly stomps down the stairs. </p><p>Wymack lets out a heavy sigh once they’ve left and rubs a hand over his face. He looks ten years older just from that interaction. He leans against the door frame and crosses his arms again. Nathaniel then realizes it’s just him and Wymack. His eyes warily watch the man, but Wymack just stays planted in the doorway, staring at him. </p><p>Nathaniel lowers himself onto the bed as gently as possible. He tried to hide the quivering of his muscles in front of Andrew and Kevin, not wanting them to mistake it for fear or exploit it as a weakness, but based on Andrew’s parting comment, he must’ve noticed. </p><p>The redhead hisses when he finally collapses onto the bed. He brings the hand that’s not holding the pen up to gentle prod at his stomach.</p><p>“Do I need to get Abby?” Wymack asks. “Did Andrew hurt you?”</p><p>Abby—that’s the lady’s name. “No,” he says truthfully. None of the stitches are torn. He’s fine. And Andrew didn’t attack him. If he tried to he would have a pen sticking out of his neck right now. </p><p>Wymack nods and relaxes against the doorframe. Nathaniel’s eyes dart around the room, irritation beginning to build. He is in fucking <em>South Carolina</em>. Yesterday at this time he was still in West Virginia. He got to see Kevin Day—a person he would’ve been completely fine with never seeing again. Kevin’s guard dog was particularly exhausting to interact with. And now Wymack is staring him down. Nathaniel stays rooted on the side of the bed, staring straight ahead at the curtains. </p><p>Last night, due to the pain and deliria, he didn’t exactly realize Wymack was an older, larger man—or rather, he’d <em>noticed</em>, but that observation didn’t trigger any internal alarms at the time. His attention was otherwise occupied, but now he very much notices. As much as he <em>hates it</em>, his mind unconsciously makes the connections between Wymack and his father. Large and strong, commanding. They could easily overpower Nathaniel, especially in his current condition. And he’s cornered in. His grip on the pen tightens and he continues to stare at the curtains, his body rigid, despite the pain that it causes. </p><p>“Do you want to tell me anything?” Wymack finally speaks up. </p><p>Nathaniel raises an eyebrow slightly but stays facing the curtains. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he admits. </p><p>Wymack lets out another sigh and pushes away from the doorframe. Nathaniel’s shoulders tense, but if Wymack notices, he doesn’t comment on it. </p><p>“I received another call this morning. This one from Tetsuji Moriyama.”</p><p>Nathaniel’s gaze pulls from the curtains and he locks eyes with Wymack. Ice floods his veins at the mention of his coach. He swallows down the rising fear, telling himself it was only a matter of time. Riko sent him away, but there was no escaping the Nest. Not for him. </p><p>“Wha—What did he say?” </p><p>“Bullshit. Same as always. You don’t have to worry about it because we’re not sending you back to him.”</p><p>The fear pushes back up until he can taste it. Nathaniel springs to his feet and turns towards Wymack. His right knee cries in protest to the sudden movement. “I have to go back,” he says again. It’s automatic because it’s a fact. He has to go back to the Nest like how bears have to hibernate in the winter. It’s a matter of survival. To not do it would be…not good, to say the least.</p><p>Wymack frowns. “No,” he says slowly. “You don’t. And we won’t let you. Do you think Abby and I are going to willingly let you go back there after how you showed up last night? Tetsuji can make orders and threats all he wants. I’m not afraid to get the law involved if I have to.”</p><p>The panic is static in his brain at this point. He shakes his head. “No, no, you can’t. Listen,” Nathaniel says. He licks his lips. “I appreciate what you and—and Abby did, but this is...”</p><p>Nathaniel falters, trying to find words but coming up short. How the fuck is he supposed to drop hints that they’re in way over their head without giving everything away? How is he supposed to tell them that if he doesn’t go back, it could be even worse for him? How is he supposed to tell them he’s involved with the mafia and trying to help him will only put them in the line of fire? Wymack was able to “rescue” Kevin, but that’s because the Moriyamas already made the decision to cut Kevin loose the moment they let him go. If Tetsuji called Wymack asking about Nathaniel, that means Nathaniel is still locked in.</p><p>“Nathaniel, <em>I know</em>,” Wymack assures him. “I’ve dealt with the Moriyamas before with Kevin. I know what they’re like—“</p><p>The panic seems to manifest into hands that creep up and wrap around his throat, cutting off his air supply. He shakes his head even harder, ignoring the building headache. “You don’t. You think you do, but they <em>let Kevin go</em>—“</p><p>Wymack sighs. “Kid—</p><p>“You can’t keep me here!” He exclaims, keeping his voice hushed on purpose so Andrew and Kevin don’t overhear. Wymack blinks, clearly taken aback by Nathaniel’s abrupt statement. Nathaniel realizes that he just lashed out at Wymack and shrinks back. </p><p>“Coach~,” Andrew’s voice rings from downstairs. “Nicky’s getting tired and wants his bedroom back, so why don’t you bring the birdie down here so we can get to know one another better? Also, Aaron wants to know what happened to the carpet.”</p><p>Wymack rolls his eyes and takes notice of Nathaniel’s tense form. He thinks it’s all because of Andrew. </p><p>“Don’t listen to him. You don’t have to go down there with them.”</p><p>“I don’t want to talk to Kevin,” Nathaniel admits quietly. He doesn’t want to see Kevin.</p><p>“You don’t have to talk to Kevin,” Wymack ensures him. “But you need to talk to somebody.”</p><p>“I need to go back,” Nathaniel amends, words coming out between clenched teeth. </p><p>Wymack lets out another heavy sigh and mutters something under his breath. </p><p>“Coach! You up there? Do I need to come and rescue you? Blink twice if it’s a yes.”</p><p>“Stay downstairs!” Wymack hollers back. Nathaniel flinches at the sound. </p><p>“Jesus,” Wymack exhales under his breath. He points towards Nathaniel who has now collapsed back onto the bed. “Stay here.” Wymack disappears from the doorway and moves out of sight. </p><p>Nathaniel hears the coach head downstairs and the voices stir up again. The redhead pushes himself up from the bed once more, wincing at the uncomfortable pull of his stitches and the way his knee wants to give out from under him when he puts too much weight on it. </p><p><em>It’s not permanent</em>, he tells himself as he hobbles over to the door to close it. He locks it too, although he knows that won’t keep someone out if they really want in. So, even when he falls back onto the bed and curls up, no matter how exhausted his body and his brain is, Nathaniel stays wide awake.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Another chapter. As promised. Hope you liked it. Leave a kudos, comments, bookmark, whatever if you do enjoy :) any form of interaction is appreciated. </p><p>Also, since I started this fic I have debated if I was gonna link my Twitter, but ya I'm gonna. Follow me @emptyambrosia if you want ;) I'm still new to Twitter, so I'm learning, but expect writing tweets &amp; the like.</p><p>New chapter will be out next weekend. Thanks for reading!</p><p>- Orth</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Shifting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Only a little while later, Nathaniel ends up downstairs. Abby had come up and knocked on his door, saying he should come down and eat something. Nathaniel knew he <em>could</em> eat—he always could—but he wasn’t necessarily hungry. Still, after a moment of deliberation, he slumps out of bed, gritting his teeth at the uncomfortable tug of his sore muscles that had since tightened up. </p><p>Nathaniel meant what he told Wymack. He doesn’t want to talk to Kevin, let alone see him, but he <em>knows</em> sitting still isn’t going to get him anywhere. Wymack made it clear he isn’t going to let Nathaniel go back to the Nest, but there will be no <em>‘letting’</em> part about it. Nathaniel can make it back on his own; that he’s certain of. But he needs a game plan. Staying upstairs will get him nowhere. His skin is itching, his instinct to move ingrained from years on the run practically burning inside of him, trying to make itself known. </p><p>He comes to the conclusion that seeing Kevin is unavoidable, as much as he <em>hates</em> it. Though, the quicker he gets out of here, the less he has to see of the striker. But in those moments Nathaniel <em>is</em> in Kevin’s presence, he’s going to use that time to make the striker feel as shitty as possible—all without speaking to him. </p><p>Of course, Kevin isn’t the only issue that awaits him downstairs. There’s also Kevin’s rapid guard dog. Nathaniel knows how to navigate around Kevin; Andrew is a different story. Not to mention the other twin and cousin that are apparently downstairs, both of whom Nathaniel has yet to meet. But Nathaniel can deal with being around some crazy, abrasive assholes. That’s the bare minimum he has to deal with daily at the Nest.</p><p>Abby leads him down the stairs. She tries to help him at first, but he brushes her off, so she settles for standing close by with her hands ready. He makes it down the stairs by himself, albeit slower than normal. Multiple voices are bursting from the kitchen just around the corner. Nathaniel can hear Andrew’s cheery voice, which he knows is only because of the drugs, and Wymacks’s stern bark. </p><p>Nathaniel turns the corner a few seconds after Abby and takes in the scene. Wymack is in the kitchen serving himself up a plate of breakfast food from the many dishes laid out across the counter. Kevin is sitting down at the end of the dining room table, his head tilted down and his hands in his hair. Andrew is currently sitting atop the island counter, swinging his feet back and forth. The heels of his feet repeatedly hit the wood cabinet below him, creating a constant banging noise throughout the room. </p><p>“Andrew! Cut it out!” The other blond screams from his spot on the barstool. Neil assumes this is Aaron. Andrew just laughs in response, but he does quit the banging. He hops off the counter, stealing a strip of bacon from the nearby platter. </p><p>By the fridge is the fifth and final person is in the room. By default, this much be Nicholas, the cousin. He’s skin is much more bronze compared to the twins’ rather fair complexion. He’s several inches taller, as well. And based on what Neil’s heard about the three of them, he’s much friendlier than his two blond cousins. </p><p>“You guys couldn’t have waited a little longer before digging in?” Abby scolds. </p><p>“But your cooking is so good,” Nicholas whines, attempting to soften Abby’s accusatory look. </p><p>“Oh, look! Nathaniel came down to join the party!” Andrew exclaims, picking up another strip of bacon and chomping down on it.</p><p>Aaron turns around on the stool and gives him a brief, uninterested look before turning back around and continuing to eat his good. Nicholas gives Nathaniel a tentative smile, but the redhead saw the shock on his face when he first spotted Nathaniel, or rather, the abundance of bandages covering him. Nathaniel keeps his chin high and ignores Kevin, who he could see out of the corner of his eye is staring at him with something akin to shock and pain. Nathaniel fights the urge to roll his eyes. </p><p>“Come on in, Nate. Grab a plate,” Andrew says, then laughs. </p><p>“If you’re going to use my name,” Nathaniel says, his voice icy. “Say Nathaniel or nothing else.”</p><p>“Or what?” Andrew grins, prowling forward. </p><p>“Knock it off,” Wymack orders before Nathaniel can respond. “Minyard if you can’t behave yourself, you’re leaving.”</p><p>“When can he ever behave himself?” Aaron grumbles.</p><p>“That’s not fair, coach,” Andrew pouts. “Nate’s been here for not even a day and you’re already showing blatant favoritism.”</p><p>“You certainly don’t make it hard,” Wymack mutters, stepping around the island and heading towards the dining room table. He stops a few steps away from Nathaniel, which is good because if he got any closer the redhead was going to have to step away to remain out of arm’s reach. </p><p>Wymack takes in Nathaniel’s battered form before releasing a heavy sigh. He nods over his shoulder at the assortment or breakfast items. “Come on. Eat up. You could use a few extra pounds.”</p><p>Nathaniel’s feet feel weighted down as he slowly walks over to the food. He makes sure to keep an eye on the others; it’s a habit he’s never been able to drop, never could afford to drop. Andrew hovers by the island next to Aaron and Kevin’s still frozen at the table so Nathaniel allows himself to glance at the food. The smell, of course, hit him as soon as he walked in the room but seeing it now makes his mouth water. Splayed across the counter are dishes of scrambled eggs, sausages, bacon, pancakes, toast, and some fruit and yogurt he’s sure was put out only for Kevin. And while the food emits a tempting aroma, Nathaniel’s stomach churns uncomfortably at the thought of eating.</p><p>“I hope this is all alright,” Abby says from beside him. He gauges the distance between them and determines that it’s far enough. “The boys have a big appetite, so I usually just make a little bit of everything. But if you don’t like anything out here, I’m sure we could whip you up something else.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Nathaniel says, glancing back at the others. They’re still where they were just moments ago. </p><p>Nathaniel goes to pick up and plate but stops. His fingers. Abby seems to notice his hesitation a moment later. The realization hits her, as well, but to her credit, she quickly covers it up and grabs a plate for Nathaniel. </p><p>“I can do it,” he insists. <em>He can</em>. They’re just broken fingers. </p><p>Abby shakes her head. “It’s okay. I’ve got it. Just tell me what you’d like,” she says, giving him a smile. </p><p>His gaze travels slowly from her face down to the assortment of food. She’s clearly waiting on him to say something. He considers telling them he’s not hungry but that would be a lie. Plus, he’s not sure they would let him get away with that. Thus far, they’ve been very mother-hen-like. Or maybe that’s just being a decent human being? Nathaniel doesn’t know. With the kind of people he’s typically surrounded by, he doesn’t think he’s properly qualified to make a judgment call about that. His view of human character is skewed; he’ll admit.</p><p>Nathaniel ends up telling Abby to grab him some fruit and yogurt, even though he’s not planning on eating any of it. But if that means less for Kevin, well then he doesn’t feel too bad about it. And thankfully, Abby doesn’t comment on the minimal amount of food on his plate. </p><p>“Juice?” She asks as they stop by the fridge. </p><p>Nathaniel shakes his head. “Just water is fine.”</p><p>He watches as Abby pulls out a glass from a cabinet and moves back to the fridge. She pulls out a water filter. </p><p>“Tap is fine,” Nathaniel says quickly before Abby can pour the filtered water in the cup. She startles a bit and looks back up at him. </p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>Nathaniel nods and is grateful when Abby doesn’t put up any more of a fight. Once he watches her fill the cup with tap water, she carries his glass and plate over to the table, two seats to the left of Kevin. Nicholas sits diagonally from him and Wymack is two seats to his left at the other end of the table. Aaron and Andrew still hover behind him at the bar and Neil can feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up from being in the center of the room. No matter which way he turns, there will always be someone behind him. </p><p>Nathaniel sits there quietly and listens, mostly for any sort of movement behind him, while Abby fixes herself a plate. She sits between Wymack and Nathaniel. Everyone at the table regards one another in varying degrees of apprehension. </p><p>“Well, eat up,” Wymack says gruffly, breaking the silence.</p><p>Kevin immediately shoves himself up to his feet. His chair makes a horrible scraping noise against the wooden floor that rings throughout the silent room. Nathaniel keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead. Kevin marches over to the counter and Nathaniel soon hears one of the twins move from behind him. His shoulders tense up and his instincts scream at him to turn around, but he doesn’t want to give Kevin the satisfaction, even if it is only a split-second glance. Though, the footsteps aren’t approaching him. He faintly hears Andrew mumble something to Kevin—he can tell it’s Andrew because it’s followed by a giggle.</p><p>“So, Nathaniel,” Nicholas says. He clears his throat. “You and Kevin know each other from, uh…”</p><p>Nathaniel turns his gaze to the cousin, keeping his expression flat and eyes hooded. Nicholas seems to falter under his gaze. Right then, Kevin comes back to the table and returns to his seat, a plate in hand. He still has the same look on his face, one that makes him look like he’s on the verge of either passing out or throwing up. </p><p>“You can say ‘the Nest,’ Nicky. Nathaniel’s a big boy. He can handle it,” Andrews hums, trailing behind Kevin. </p><p>“Right,” Nicholas says, looking a bit uncomfortable. “Well, so, you know Kevin. You met Andrew earlier. Aaron is the one brooding at the counter. I’m their cousin, Nicholas, but you can call me Nicky.”</p><p>He gives Nathaniel another smile, which the redhead also ignores. He already knows who they are, but he isn’t about to tell them Riko makes them watch Fox games and interviews due to his never-ending obsession with Kevin. </p><p>“No, absolutely not,” Wymack says when Andrew goes to settles on the other side of his cousin, right across the table from Nathaniel. </p><p>The blond pouts at the older man. “Coach, why not? I sincerely swear not to the play footsie with Nate if that’s what you’re worried about.”</p><p>Wymack looks like he really wants to roll his eyes, but he keeps his stern gaze fixed on Andrew until Andrew lets out an exaggerated sigh and sits next to his coach instead. </p><p>“If you wanted me to sit next to you, all you had to do was say so.”</p><p>And then everyone slowly begins to cut into their food and eat. Wymack is chatting with Abby about some new policy the university is voting on that would impact student-athletes this coming fall. Nathaniel is still extremely aware of the other twin that remains behind him. While he’s certain Andrew is the bigger threat, he doesn’t feel comfortable with either one of them being in his blind spot. But Nicholas—Nicky—calls Aaron over a moment later, telling his cousin to join them at the table; Abby seconds it. Aaron grumbles something, but he ends up stomping over and dropping himself down in the seat across from Nathaniel. He glances up to survey the redhead once again, and his lips curl up the briefest amount—and not in a nice way—before he’s looking back down at his plate. Nicky immediately begins chatting, looking from Kevin to Aaron as he talks, neither of which seem to be paying much attention to him. </p><p>Nathaniel looks down at his own plate and finds his stomach twisting and turning once again. He glances at his glass. The water is fine. He saw Abby get it from the tap. The glass was empty beforehand. Nathaniel grasps the cup and brings it to his mouth. He takes a small sip before setting it back down. He waits, but the conversation all around him continues. It’s not quiet in the Raven dining halls, but the noise isn’t like this. The commotion at the Nest is tense. If people are talking, they’re usually plotting something. Here, they’re talking about movies and the school board and this fancy restaurant downtown and some hot guy at the bar last night. It’s so…casual. Relaxed. Light. Nathaniel doesn’t know how to react to or feel in this situation. He picks up his spoon and begins to swirl around in his yogurt, scooping up the raspberries and blueberries before dumping them and scooping them up again. He hopes by moving the food around a bit it’ll look like he’s eaten some of it. Unfortunately, Abby seems to notice he’s not actually <em>consuming</em> any of it. </p><p>“Nathaniel,” she says softly. Her eyes flick down to his uneaten food. “We can get you something else.”</p><p>“No, it’s fine,” he repeats quietly. “I’m not that hungry.”</p><p>“Oh, well—“</p><p>“Nathaniel,” Kevin implores. Nathaniel hadn’t even known the striker was listening in. “You should eat.”</p><p>The redhead tightens his grip on the spoon and steels his jaw but pointedly ignores the striker. The conversation around the table immediately fades away. </p><p>“Nathaniel,” Kevin says again, his voice tinged with impatience. And Nathaniel thinks <em>ah, there he is</em>. “Nathaniel, it’s okay to eat.”</p><p>Nathaniel slams his spoon back down on the table. His other hand clenches in the fabric of the too-large sweatpants he’s wearing. His fingers immediately throb. He stares down at the messy dish of yogurt and fruit in front of him, his heart heavy and dull in his chest. </p><p>“Uh-oh, Kevin what did you say to make him so upset?” Andrew questions. </p><p>“Nothing, I just—Nathaniel, the food isn’t—,” Kevin says, and then stops. </p><p>But Nathaniel knew what he was going to say: <em>the food isn’t drugged</em>.</p><p>Riko has a habit of denying Nathaniel food, and on the rare occasion he did allow the striker to eat, somehow he found a way to lace the food. Riko just started doing this when Kevin was still at the Nest, but after the striker had fled, the number of incidents increased until it was almost happening every few days, especially when he and Jean weren’t talking. Of course, the other backliner didn’t get off completely free either. Sometimes the two of them would come into the dining hall to see their plates already made, sitting out on the table for them to grab. They didn’t know which one was untouched or if either of them had been tampered with at all. Riko didn’t do it every day because they still had a duty to perform on the court. Plus, Riko, the psychopath, liked keeping them on their toes, Nathaniel especially. The redhead often tried to take the fall instead of Jean because he knew he could handle it. Jean was smart and strong when it counted, but in the months since Kevin had left, Nathaniel could see Jean caving deeper and deeper into himself. And now Nathaniel was gone, too, and Jean was left at the Nest alone. </p><p>“Hey, Kevin,” Andrew faux-whispers to the striker. But considering he’s on the other side of the table, everyone hears. The blond points a finger at Nathaniel. “I don’t think he likes you. Are you sure you guys were friends back at the Nest?”</p><p>“We weren’t friends,” Nathaniel grounds out, lifting his gaze to glare at Andrew. He sees the smug smirk barely concealed by Andrew’s manic mask, and Nathaniel knows he just played right into Andrew’s hands. </p><p>“No? And here I thought you showing up in Kevin’s jersey meant something?”</p><p>Nathaniel does his best not to show any sort of reaction, not to Andrew. And he certainly doesn’t look at Kevin, but he hears the striker choke off to his side. Nathaniel immediately throws an accusatory look at Abby and Wymack; both of them look genuinely shocked. </p><p>“Nathaniel, we didn’t—,” Abby begins, looking so <em>worried</em> and so <em>compassionate</em>. Nathaniel almost sneers. </p><p>“Save it,” he snaps, cutting her off. He goes to push himself back from the table, but a hand clamps down on the back of his chair, preventing him from going anywhere. </p><p>“Why did Riko send you with my jersey?”</p><p>“Let me go, Kevin,” Nathaniel says through gritted teeth, barely managing to hold it together. He feels as if his skin is splitting at the seams. </p><p>“I know he wouldn’t just let you go. Not permanently. Why are you here at all?” Kevin pushes, his voice becoming louder. </p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” Nathaniel jeers, trying to jerk the chair out from Kevin’s hand, but the striker only tightens his grip. </p><p>“He sent you here to bring me back, didn’t he?” Desperation and despair begin to sink into Kevin’s voice. </p><p>“He’s not taking you back,” Andrew says quickly. He’s standing now. And a dangerous look Nathaniel has yet to see makes its way across the blond’s face. “Though, I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t like to see him try.”</p><p>Nathaniel careful regards the blond and slowly moves his hand to grasp the butter knife that had been set out next to the placemat. </p><p>“Minyard, sit back down. Everyone else, calm the hell down. No one’s going back to Edgar Allan,” Waymack says, though he too seems to look uneasy due to Kevin’s statement. </p><p>“Who the hell even is this guy?” Aaron scoffs, speaking up for the first time. He’s looking at Nathaniel within thinly veiled scorn. </p><p>“Excellent question,” Andrew pipes in. He’s still standing behind his twin, directly across from Nathaniel. “I was wondering that too. I didn’t think I recognized you from the Raven’s lineup. What’s your last name again?”</p><p>“I never told you,” Nathaniel bites out. </p><p>“Right, right, but just humor me.”</p><p>“I’d rather not.”</p><p>“He’s not on the lineup,” Kevin says. “Not yet. Next year he will be. When he’s eighteen.”</p><p>Nicky's mouth falls open a bit as he stares at Nathaniel. The redhead can feel the stares from Abby and Wymack, as well. From everyone. Kevin’s hand is still firm on the back of his chair, preventing him from leaving.</p><p>“You’re still in high school?” Nicky sputters. </p><p>Nathaniel presses his index finger against the flat edge of the butter knife blade until his finger <em>screams</em>. </p><p>“Jesus Christ, what is Tetsuji doing over there?” Wymack says all in one exhale. </p><p>“Why did Riko send you away?” Kevin asks again, leaning in closer, which is bold considering Kevin’s standing with Nathaniel and the knife in the redhead’s hand. It’s a butter knife, but Nathaniel can make do with it. </p><p>“I don’t <em>know</em>, Kevin.”</p><p>Which is true. His last night at the Nest was a blur. He remembers the panic and the anger and the pain but not much else. </p><p>The tattoo. That happened before he left. Nathaniel has yet to see the mark. He nearly raises his hand right to brush the spot on his cheek where he knows the number <em>4</em> is etched. He stops himself, however, realizing that Kevin would immediately catch on and definitely freak out more than he was already. </p><p>“You can’t think of anything—“</p><p>Nathaniel pivots sharply in his chair and stares Kevin down for the first time since coming into the kitchen. His expression is hateful and cold, the one he uses when facing Lola or Riko or Kevin. Although, it’s been months since the latter has received this look. Nathaniel allows himself to feel a bit of satisfaction when Kevin still shrinks away slightly. </p><p>“I don’t have to explain <em>anything</em> to you,” Nathaniel hisses. “Not anymore.”</p><p>“On the contrary, little red. I think you <em>and</em> Kevin have some explaining to do,” Andrew says, giving Nathaniel a wolfish grin. He leans forward, placing this hands on the table in between Nicky and Aaron who watch him apprehensively. “I don’t believe your little pathetic whimpering about not knowing why Riko sent you. And I know Kevin hasn’t been entirely truthful either.” </p><p>As if to prove his point, Kevin sucks further in on himself. Nathaniel scoffs. <em>This</em> is what Jean risked his well-being for? He got Kevin out only for the striker to be the same simpering, egotistical, cowardly asshole. </p><p>“Fuck you,” he says. To Kevin. To Andrew. To the fucking universe. “I don’t owe anything to <em>any of you</em>.”</p><p>The doorbell rings, momentarily diverting everyone’s attention. Wymack immediately leaves the table to answer the door. Nathaniel takes this opportunity to knock Kevin’s hand off the back of his chair and goes to stand up. Kevin snaps out of his daze and lunges forward.</p><p>“Wait—!”</p><p>The striker begins to stand up too and reaches his hand out to—Nathaniel didn’t know—grab him, most likely. Of course, the redhead goes to evade Kevin, but he’s trapped on every side. Kevin’s fingers wrap around his bicep, his grip firm but not tight. Still, the abrupt touch leaves Nathaniel reeling.</p><p>“<em>Let go</em>.”</p><p>“I just want—“</p><p>“<em>I don’t care</em>.”</p><p>Nathaniel jerks away again, but he doesn’t expect Kevin to release his grip. Nathaniel’s balance is thrown off-kilter as his momentum carries him to the ground. He hits the chair behind him on his way down, causing it to crash against the ground a moment after he does. Pain radiates throughout his already body. His knees and shoulders take most of the hit, forcing a cry from Nathaniel’s lips. His hands immediately fly down to his right knee, cradling it and pressing against the bruised flesh. Abby is by his side a moment later, but he jerks away from her well-intentioned hands. </p><p>“Don’t touch me,” he wheezes through gritted teeth. </p><p>“God, Kevin. You really are an asshole,” Nicky says. He’s hovering off to the side, unsure of what to do. </p><p>“He’s fiiiiine,” Andrew drawls out, his voice loud and boisterous. He too is standing closer, hovering next to Kevin. His hand is resting on his forearm again, but he's regarding Nathaniel with a certain clarity the redhead wouldn't think is possible when he's dosed up. “Nate can handle a little tumble.”</p><p>Kevin looks stunned. His mouth twists. “I didn’t mean—,” he starts.</p><p>“You never do!” Nathaniel fires back. “Just fucking leave, Kevin! That’s what you do best.”</p><p>Nathaniel catches the flash of hurt and guilt before he turns away. </p><p>“My, my, the <em>dramatics</em>—“</p><p>“What the hell happened?” Wymack barks when he steps foot in the kitchen again. Nathaniel pushes himself up slightly, slowly, until he’s sitting. Standing slightly behind Wymack is a plump woman with medium brown hair and glasses. “You know what, I don’t even want to know. Everyone just get the hell out.”</p><p>“Oh, coach you cheated,” Andrew says when he sees the woman.</p><p>“Hello, Andrew,” she says politely, giving them blond a small smile. Her gaze slowly comes back around to Nathaniel and he quickly diverts his eyes. </p><p>“Bee, you’re not supposed to be here,” Andrew sings. </p><p>“Wymack called and asked me to come.”</p><p>“Well, Wymack is known for picking favorites. You’re supposed to remain unbiased, Bee.”</p><p>“Out,” Wymack reminds them. </p><p>Kevin practically scurries out of the room. Aaron trails after him looking bored. Nicky leaves once he flashes Nathaniel another concerned glance. Andrew is the last to file out, purposely being slow.</p><p>“I wasn’t done eating,” he informs Wymack. </p><p>“Not my problem. You shouldn’t have started shit at the table.”</p><p>Andrew’s laugh is sharp and biting. “We’re Foxes. What do you expect? Especially when you bring in a fledging from the Nest.”</p><p>Andrew slips out of the room soon after, so it’s Nathaniel with the three adults. </p><p>“Are you okay?” Abby asks. “Did any of your stitches rip open?’</p><p>Nathaniel shifts himself further up until he’s sitting up straight. He feels around until he’s sure nothing is bleeding again. He shakes his head and Abby lets out a sigh of relief. </p><p>“Does anything else hurt?”</p><p>Nathaniel pauses. His fingers are still absentmindedly rubbing his knee. The prospect of something being internally wrong with his knee has bothered him for weeks now. The nurse at the Nest never thought anything of it, but…Nathaniel was an athlete and he cared about his body. He couldn’t fight back if something was seriously hurt. Cuts and bruises he could always heal from because they were mostly external. Internal injuries…well, Nathaniel knew from experience those were a lot tricker. </p><p>“My knee,” he says. He swallows the lump in his throat. “It’s been bothering me for the past few weeks and—I don’t know if there’s something wrong with it. Like, internally.”</p><p>“Okay,” Abby says, nodding. “I can’t do a full exam right now, but I check some of your responses and see if there’s anything that’s abnormal. Will you let me do that? I’ll have to touch you.”</p><p>Nathaniel takes a deep breath in through his nose but nods. Abby is quick and meticulous, probing at his knee and the area around it. He jerks a few times and she pauses to look up at his face, waiting until he gives her the okay to continue. When she’s finished, she pulls away and sits back. </p><p>“You’re knees a bit sore and inflamed. As of right now, your reactions are normal, but I can check again once some of the swelling goes down, okay? We can get you on some anti-inflammatory and—“</p><p>“No,” Nathaniel is quick to interject. “No, I’m fine.”</p><p>Abby pauses, caught off guards by his interruption, but she quickly covers it up with a smile. She pushes herself to her feet and takes a few steps away to stand next to Wymack. </p><p>“Nathaniel, this is Betsy Dobson,” the older man begins, indicating to the newcomer. She gives Nathaniel a kind smile once again. “She's a close friend of Abby and me. She’s also the psychiatrist for the Foxes.”</p><p>“You’re a shrink.” </p><p>“Yes, I am.”</p><p>Nathaniel looks back at Wymack. “Why is she here?”</p><p>The Foxes coach folds his arms across his chest. “To talk to you.”</p><p>Nathaniel blinks. “Why?”</p><p>Wymack lets out another heavy sigh and rubs a hand down his face. “Jesus, kid. Give me some credit. Listen, you don’t want to talk to me—I get it. But I meant what I said earlier. You need to talk to somebody.”</p><p>It was clear that Betsy was that somebody. Nathaniel looked at the brunette again and then away. </p><p>“I don’t need to talk to a shrink,” Nathaniel says. He speaks it with an air of finality. Like there’s no contesting it because there isn’t. He doesn’t need someone to psychoanalyze him. </p><p>Wymack lets out another sigh, but Betsy places a hand on his arm, stopping him from saying anything further. </p><p>“I can take it from here, David,” Betsy assures him. </p><p>Wymack looks between her and Nathaniel before finally conceding and stepping out of the room. Abby follows behind him, leaving the shrink and Nathaniel alone. He remains frozen on the floor. There’s a building sense of panic buzzing inside of him. He didn’t trust any of them, as much as he maybe wanted to, his survival instincts wouldn’t let him. Nathaniel also had to remind himself that this was only temporary. But he’d been around a small group of people his whole life. First, it was his father and mother, then the Ravens. There was a commonality among all of those people. Nathaniel knew what to expect—cruelty—even if that came in different variations. </p><p>With the Foxes, not only were they new, mostly, but that also meant they were unpredictable. Nathaniel didn’t know what to expect from anyone other than Kevin. It was all extremely confusing to take in. Being surrounded by new people each moment. He’d told himself he could deal with Kevin and Andrew and the others, and he believed that. They had their own issues to work past before they could start tearing Nathaniel’s down—his <em>real</em> issues. But this lady here—the psychiatrist—her whole professional involves breaking down and finding those issues. Nathaniel has spent his whole life building up those walls to keep himself supported. Tearing them down would mean tearing him down, ripping open those stitches and letting himself bleed out. He wasn’t ready for that. He would never be ready because his business is his own. He certainly doesn’t want anyone psychoanalyzing him and acting as if they’re doing him a favor.</p><p>“Hello. Nathaniel, right?”</p><p>The redhead knows she knows his name and this is just her attempt at being polite. But he still says, “Yes.”</p><p>Betsy walks over and settles in a chair at the end of the dining room table. She makes sure to keep a reasonable distance between her and Nathaniel, which pisses him off because he knows it’s some sort of attempt to <em>respect his boundaries</em> or whatever. She glances at the half-eaten plates at the table and takes a deep inhale. </p><p>“It smells good in here,” Betsy says. She looks at the trays of food still on the counter too. “Abby’s always been a great cook. You should see the assortment at Thanksgiving dinner.”</p><p>Nathaniel just continues to stare at her. He detests small talk. Betsy doesn’t seem to falter, however. She just continues to speak. </p><p>“She makes the best sweet potato casserole and these bacon-wrapped roasted green beans. The thought of those alone has my mouth-watering.” </p><p>She lets out a little laugh while Nathaniel remains silent. When she turns to look at him, her gaze is patient and open and nonjudgemental. She just waits with her lips curved in a friendly manner. He doesn’t feel pressured, but all this obvious consideration makes his skin tingle, and his thoughts sound too loud. And he’s just annoyed. At all of it. He didn’t want to talk, so Wymack brought in a shrink? Yeah, and Nathaniel’s supposed to think that’s <em>not</em> some sort of ploy or warning. </p><p>“I’m not going to talk to you,” Nathaniel says. </p><p>“You’re talking to me right now.”</p><p>He grits his teeth. “You know what I mean. I’m not going to start gushing out all my problems and concerns, so you’re wasting your time.”</p><p>“I don’t think so,” she says. “You aren’t obligated to tell me anything. But I think it sometimes can be helpful to just sit and talk with someone else, even if it’s just about trivial things, don’t you?”</p><p>“No,” Nathaniel responds, even though he’s pretty sure he’s already made it clear where he stands on this matter. </p><p>Learning to keep his mouth shut is current a work in process, but what he does know is that each time he opens his mouth, pain is almost always guaranteed to follow. Then again, being able to keep his mouth shut in the moments that really mattered is what kept him alive and safe—well, <em>safer</em>, maybe. Not dead. </p><p>“Why not?” </p><p>Nathaniel narrows his eyes, trying to silent tell her that he knows what she’s doing. Betsy blinks back innocently. Still, he indulges her in an answer: “Telling someone about your problems isn’t going to magically make them go away.”</p><p>“That’s true. How do you think problems get solved?’</p><p>Nathaniel raises an eyebrow and gives her a skeptical look. “Like, in general, or…?”</p><p>Betsy shrugs. “Sure. In general.”</p><p>Nathaniel shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re wanting to me say.”</p><p>“There’s no right or wrong answer, Nathaniel.”</p><p>“Then why can’t you just accept what I just said as my answer. I don’t know how to answer this question. Done.”</p><p>“We can if you want.”</p><p>“Yeah? Well, I do want,” Nathaniel says, his voice rather short. He looks past Betsy towards the entrance of the kitchen and dining room. He hears muffled noises beyond the doorway and wonders if Wymack and Abby rounded the others up or if they’re currently eavesdropping on his and Betsy’s conversation, or rather lack thereof. </p><p>“What did you have to eat?” Betsy asks. </p><p>“Yogurt. And some fruit.”</p><p>He sees her gaze travel to his plate where the food remains untouched. He meets her gaze, unwavering, despite the fact that she knows he obviously just lied. </p><p>“Well,” she says, slapping her hands down on her thighs, “I had just a small breakfast and I’m starting to get awfully hungry. I think I’ll make myself some food.”</p><p>Betsy stands up and heads over to the kitchen and out of Nathaniel’s sight. He continues to sit on the floor with his back to the island counter, but he can hear Betsy sifting through the cabinets behind him. He pushes himself to his feet and turns around so he can see what she’s doing. She sees that he’s now standing up and asks him if he wants anything. </p><p>“I’m not hungry,” Neil repeats. </p><p>“Okay,” she says easily. “I think I’m going to make myself some grilled cheese. Those always hit the spot. And they’re not too difficult to make.”</p><p>Nathaniel eyes the dishes of leftover food she’s completely ignoring. There’s definitely enough for her to fix herself a plate, but she’s making something else entirely. </p><p>“My sister makes her grilled cheeses with some tomato and onions and a little bit of chipotle mayo. I know it sounds odd like an off combination but the end result is delicious. She only told me a few months ago, but I’ve been making it that way since then.”</p><p>Nathaniel glances over at the kitchen entryway once again, wondering if Betsy would notice if he quickly slips out. </p><p>“Nathaniel, can you grab me a tomato and an onion from the fridge?”</p><p>He drags his gaze back to where Betsy is standing in front of the stove, then looks back at the fridge. It isn’t until he begins to move that Betsy turns back around to face the stove. He opens the fridge door. </p><p>“They should be in one of the drawers.”</p><p>He pulls open the top one and spots a tomato and onion sealed away in two separate bags. Nathaniel takes them out and drops them on the counter close to where Betsy’s standing, making sure to keep further than an arms’ reach away, especially with the knife in her hand. </p><p>“How do you like your grilled cheese?” Betsy asks as she pulls two slices of bread out from the bag nearby. </p><p>He shrugs. He’s actually never had one. It’s not an option at the Nest and cheese spoiled too quickly to justify buying it while he was his mother were constantly on the move, not to mention a lot of the times they didn’t have access to electricity to store or make such a thing. </p><p>“Have you ever had one?’</p><p>Nathaniel narrows his eyes at her. “No.”</p><p>“Well, the classic is just cheese, butter, and bread,” she says, taking his confession in stride. “As for the variations, there’s a lot of them. How about we just make you a classic one to start?’</p><p>“I told you I’m not hungry,” he states, putting some firmness behind his words. </p><p>“Okay, well let me know if you change your mind. Would you like to cut the tomato and onion?”</p><p>“No,” Nathaniel says, words quick. </p><p>Betsy looks at him again and nods. Nathaniel is getting tired of those looks and those nods and those smiles and easily accepted answers in which she responds “Okay” every time. </p><p>“Do you want to butter the bread while I cut the vegetables?”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Why what?”</p><p>“Why are we cooking? If you were hungry beforehand, why didn’t you eat something earlier or pick up food on the way here? And there’s all this food already laid out that you could’ve eaten instead of making something else.”</p><p>“Is it so bad to start from scratch sometimes?”</p><p>Nathaniel blinks and Betsy immediately begins cutting. He watches her carefully, feels his muscle bunch up tighter each time the knife slices through and hits the cutting board. Nathaniel turns around and quickly butters the bread. Once he’s finished, he sets them down on a plate and walks away. Betsy doesn’t make any movement to stop him or call out to him, and Nathaniel almost leaves the kitchen entirely. But instead, he settles for sitting at the dining room table, this time in a chair that faces the kitchen so he can see everything she’s doing. Betsy doesn’t try to call him back or turn around to see if he’s even still here. Soon, however, the food must be finished because she scoops in onto and plate and comes over to join Nathaniel at the dinner table. He glances at her sandwich. Betsy gets back up to get herself a drink and asks Nathaniel if he wants anything, to which he replies “no”. She flashes Nathaniel a smile when she goes to sit down again. </p><p>“Do you want to try it?” She offers. </p><p>“No,” he says. Nathaniel ignores the appetizing smell and his empty stomach. </p><p>“You sure are missing out,” she says. She cuts the sandwich in half diagonally and picks up one piece. Nathaniel watches as she brings it to her mouth and takes a bit, but then he drags his gaze away. The living room is unsettlingly quiet. </p><p>“What’d you think of the others?’</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“Nicky, Aaron, Andrew, and Kevin? I know you and Kevin are previously acquainted.”</p><p>“Yep,” Nathaniel says, staring at random objects throughout the room. “I don’t really have an opinion on any of them,” he lies. </p><p>“Well, I’m sure you will once you get to know them better.”</p><p>Nathaniel grunts. <em>Yeah, no thanks. It’s not like I’m going to be here for long anyway.</em> </p><p>He slides his gaze back front and center when an object is held up in front of him. Betsy is holding out the other piece of the sandwich. </p><p>“Last offer. I promise you it’s amazing.”</p><p>Nathaniel stares at the sandwich and swallows the saliva that’s building in his mouth. He did <em>see</em> her make it. And she ate the other piece. She wouldn’t mess with it and eat half of it. Nathaniel hesitantly reaches out to grab the half-sandwich from her. He pauses before he touches it. </p><p>“If I eat this can we be done?”</p><p>Betsy searches his face for long enough that Nathaniel nearly drops his hand, but then she nods. He grabs the sandwich in his hand and slowly brings it up to his mouth before taking a small bite. And then another once he’s swallowed.</p><p>“How does it taste?”</p><p>Nathaniel chews again; swallows. It still tastes like chalk.</p><p>“Underwhelming.”</p><p>*****</p><p>When Nathaniel wakes up, his body is sore and aching, but his mind is wide awake. Even though he’s ready to get up and start the day, he knows it’s currently the middle of the night due to the darkness that fills the room and the eerie quietness that rests beyond the bedroom door. </p><p>Fucking Nest schedule. </p><p>He’s never been outside of the Nest since he arrived there three years ago, not including his nightly excursions. But usually, when he did leave, it was for a short enough time that he just ended up not sleeping at all. Neither did Sasha. And when he returned to the Nest, everyone was on the same schedule. </p><p>But now that he was out, that clearly is no longer the case. Everyone in the house and surrounding area is asleep, which once again highlights how abnormal Nathaniel’s life is. Then he blinks and realizes that <em>everyone in the house is asleep</em>. If he leaves now, he could get a few hours head start maybe before anyone even realizes he’s gone. That’s all he needs. Well, that and some cash to buy a bus ticket. </p><p>Nathaniel carefully pulls the covers aside and inches out of bed. He slides between the door and begins to head down the stairs, but then pauses, wondering if the cash would be downstairs or upstairs. He doesn’t remember spotting a purse anywhere downstairs earlier. It’s likely in Abby’s room, but he doesn’t know which room is Abby’s room and he doesn’t want to accidentally creep in on someone else. </p><p>
  <em>Shit, okay. Just check downstairs first. There has to be something stored away somewhere.</em>
</p><p>But when Nathaniel reaches the bottom of the steps, he freezes. Wymack blinks back at him from his position on the couch. </p><p>“Sneaking away?”</p><p>“No,” Nathaniel says, even though they both know it’s a lie.</p><p>Wymack lets out a heavy sigh. “Sure, kid.”</p><p>Nathaniel gulps. “What are you doing down here?”</p><p>“Trying to sleep. Making sure you don’t run away,” he offers. </p><p>“I’m not going to run away,” he says through numb lips. </p><p>“Right, and I’m just going to let you walk right back to the Nest.”</p><p>Nathaniel feels the frustration return, along with the helplessness and desperation that dare accompany it. </p><p>“Can I just—Can I borrow your phone?”</p><p>“No. I may be an old man but I’m not an idiot.”</p><p>Nathaniel slowly sinks back until his back is pressed against the wall. His throat constricts at the familiar sensation of being trapped. He wants to <em>move</em>. Back at the Nest, despite the suffocating feeling he constantly felt from being unground and surrounding by black and red, the court provided him with that opportunity to move, to run. Someone else might view it as a minor concession, but for Nathaniel, it was what kept his sane during his time there. </p><p>“Jesus, kid. You look like you're about to have a panic attack again.”</p><p>Nathaniel sucks in a mouthful of air, trying to calm his racing heart. Although, he supposes Wymack’s presence as something to do with it, as well, and so he settles for just being able to properly breathe. </p><p>“Look, I don’t know what messed up shit you’ve been through. I’ve seen a lot, okay? But not everything. But us? You don’t have to fear us.” Wymack pauses and scrubs his hand over his lower face. “Nicky means well. Aaron is just always bitter; it’s nothing personal. Andrew—well, Andrew is Andrew, but if he causes you any problems, you come to me. And I know you have your issues with Kevin, but…” </p><p>Wymack’s voice trails off and he lets out another heavy sigh, mumbling something into the darkness that Nathaniel can’t pick up. </p><p>“Where are they all at?” Nathaniel finds himself asking. </p><p>“I told them it would be best if they stayed at their house in Columbia for tonight, and probably a few more.”</p><p>Nathaniel stores the information away for later, and nods. He glances at the front door out of the corner of his eye. He could make a dash for it, but deep down he knows he doesn’t have a chance anymore, not tonight at least. Nathaniel also knows it’s going to be more difficult to sneak out from now on since Wymack caught him trying to make a dash for it literally on the first night. </p><p>“Nathaniel,” Wymack says, drawing the redhead’s gaze back to him. “If you need someone to fight for you, we’ll do it.”</p><p>His heart plummets to the bottom of his stomach and he thinks, <em>not this again</em>. He can’t stand this false hope and the misleading promises. He allowed himself to believe it once and his mother ended up dead and he was dragged back. </p><p>“You <em>can’t</em>,” Nathaniel wheezes. </p><p>“We <em>can</em>,” Wymack amends. “If you let us.”</p><p>The hysteria nearly bubbles out of Nathaniel as a laugh. “It’s not as easy as you’re making it sound.”</p><p>“Try me,” Wymack says. </p><p>Nathaniel chews on his bottom lip, then hisses when he bites a healing cut. He shakes his head and shifts his weight, avoiding Wymack’s persistent stare. Finally, the older man concedes and waves his arm out, pointing back up the stairs where Nathaniel came from. </p><p>“Fine. Now get your ass back to bed.”</p><p>Nathaniel doesn’t even try to fight him. He heads back up the stairs and returns to the room he was in. He’s still wide awake; even the pitch darkness isn’t enough to make his feel drowsy. He’d opted out of Abby’s earlier offering of paid meds too. </p><p>He sits on the edge of the bed for a moment, staring off into the inky blackness of the room. It’s disquieting and yet familiar at the same time. He’s physically out of the Nest, but he’s never free from it. When he pushes himself to his feet once again, he makes sure his bare feet make no noise against the hardwood as he walks a bit down the hall. He quietly slips into the half-bath, cringing when the door squeaks a bit as he closes it. Nathaniel flips on the lights and turns the lock.</p><p>His reflection immediately fills the mirror. He stares back silently, accessing his appearance. Abby changed his bandages only a few hours ago, yet he still reaches up with unsteady fingers to unwrap the white cloth covering portions of his face. First, he reveals the small head wound on his forehead, right underneath his hairline. More bruises and cuts are uncovered as he continued to discard the bandages. All red and purple but healing and not permanently. The last piece of white that rests on his face lays on his left cheekbone. He knows what’s under it, so he doesn’t quite know why he’s hesitating. </p><p>His fingers curl under the edge of the bandage. He looks directly into his icy blue eyes, is overwhelmed with hatred. Nathaniel roughly yanks off the bandage, forgoing all gentleness. His cheek stinks and the area is slightly red, but he clearly sees the black <em>4</em> inked in fine lines. He clenches his jaw and forces himself to look at his reflection. The red hair, the blue eyes, the number 4. All markings that remind him of someone he despises, yet all of these things he’ll have for the rest of his life. He doesn’t think it could be more fitting.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello, hello. I am back with another (long) chapter. Our boi be struggling but he's headed in the right direction (I think). Anywho, this chapter kept growing and growing and growing and I was adamant about getting it out during the weekend, so I stayed up and powered through. But with that being said, there might be a few typos cuz ya girl sleepy. </p><p>Additionally, this next week for me is really busy. I'm trying to get ahead, so I can still produce a chapter for yall next weekend, but if that for some reason doesn't happen. I'm not dead, just drowning in school work. Yes, thank you. </p><p>With that being said, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thank you for reading. Leave a kudos, comment, bookmark; I appreciate any form of interaction. Literally makes me so happy. Feel free to also follow me on <a href="https://twitter.com/emptyambrosia">Twitter</a>!!</p><p>-orth</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Not a Fox</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s been five days since Nathaniel first arrived in Palmetto. Five <em>real days</em>, not Raven days. Nathaniel knows that even if his internal clock has been thrown off by this change of pace. No one has broken into the house, no threats have been made—other than the typical threats the Foxes receive from Raven fans—no mysterious phone calls—or maybe that <em>has</em> been happening, but Wymack and Abby are just keeping it from him. Nathaniel had his suspicions within the first day of staying at the nurse’s house, but now he <em>knows</em> the two are coddling him. Okay, maybe that’s not exactly the right word, but they’re always hovering around, offering him food and asking if he wants to watch TV. Abby now even encourages him to make his own food for every meal. It’s not that he wasn’t allowed to before or that she doesn’t want to cook for him…if Nathaniel has to guess, he thinks Abby had a talk with Betsy about Nathaniel’s eating issues. So, she always lets him assemble his own meals. He still doesn’t eat much, but the amount of…consideration? Is that the right word? Maybe attention? The amount of attention they’re paying him is…odd, especially when pain or humiliation doesn’t follow. It always does at the Nest. You don’t want to be the center of attention there; that spot was only reserved for Riko, who is the only person more self-absorbed than Kevin. </p><p>Yet despite all of that, Nathaniel knows their constant attentiveness isn’t just out of benevolence. They’re watching him. He assumes it’s to make sure he doesn’t runoff. After Wymack caught him that first night, Abby and he have always been in close proximity to Nathaniel. They give him space to some extent, but one of them is always near the front door and the back door creaks loudly enough that it could be heard from nearly anywhere in the house. Although, Nathaniel’s wounds are healing properly enough that within a day or two he’d be willing to risk jumping out of the bedroom window. His right knee is the issue with that approach. Abby has yet to do a second, more thorough examination, and Nathaniel’s worry that the constant ache might be something more serious grows with each passing day. </p><p>Of course, <em>a lot</em> of Nathaniel’s feelings are growing by the day. Mostly the ones like anxiety and frustration and self-hatred. Every time he wakes up the first thoughts that enter his mind is <em>‘Is the Master going to send for me today?’; ’Is my father on his way to drag me back right now?’; ‘I wonder how bad it’ll be once I return to Edgar Allan.’</em></p><p>He has already tried telling Wymack it’s not safe for him to stay here, not for him <em>or</em> Abby and Wymack and Betsy and the rest of the Foxes who seem to think they’re doing him a great service by taking him away from the dark, dangerous mafia.</p><p>Nathaniel wants to scream and tell them they’re not helping him, not when they first found him and not now. Wants to scream that they should’ve left him to bleed out on the asphalt instead of bringing him back. Wants to scream and say that with each passing day it's harder and harder for him to distinguish himself from the people Wymack and Abby are supposedly trying to protect him from. </p><p>At the same time, he knows he is mostly to blame. Nathaniel has had chances to leave if he really wanted to. It wouldn’t be easy. Abby and Wymack would mostly catch on soon after he left with how often they check up on him, but he theoretically could have done it. Yet he hasn’t. What does that say about him? </p><p>He doesn’t want to stay because he knows what staying means for him. And for Jean. Staying isn’t an option. And he doesn’t dare to hope it is. </p><p>Still. He’s here. For now. As the days pass, the foreboding feeling that’s been palpable in the surrounding air has become more intense, like a weight that continues to build atop his shoulders. He’ll be dragged back soon though, just like before. If he has to hold his breath, he wouldn’t be worried. </p><p>Despite the indisputable countdown until he’s back in West Virginia, Nathaniel’s desire to move has grown too wild to ignore. Even though his injuries are faring much better and he’s not wearing bandages anymore—he’s following Abby’s advice to let his wounds air out—Abby still isn’t letting him do any sort of strenuous physical activity. So, no Exy and no running. Not even two days pass before Wymack is barking at him to stop fidgeting. Of course, Nathaniel immediately complies. He freezes instantaneously, not moving a muscle, and Wymack quickly realizes his mistake. Nathaniel thinks it might be because of that specific instance that the older man offers to take Nathaniel on car rides if he wants “a change of scenery.”</p><p>“You’re kidding,” Nathaniel states flatly when Wymack first suggests it to him because (1) seriously? <em>A car ride?</em> Being in a confined space with someone his father’s age—even if Nathaniel has unwound a bit around the Foxes coach; only a bit; part of him still anticipates the hit every time Wymack raises his voice or lifts a hand to scratch his head or grabs the TV remote—it’s not something he would pick to relieve his tension from being stuck in a house for days on end; (2) Nathaniel supposes they mean for the offer to sound considerate, but Nathaniel takes it as mocking. He is trapped here, just like he was at the Nest. Freedom is something he’s <em>granted</em>, not something he freely has to exploit. </p><p>Wymack’s response is a jingling of his truck keys, which Nathaniel blatantly ignores only to grudgingly trudge back a few hours later. Wymack, thankfully, doesn’t say anything and only swipes up his keys and heads out the door. </p><p>The rides are better than nothing, but each time they pull back into the driveway, the panic and distress return. He checks nearly every corner and crevice when he enters back into the house, wondering what’s taking his father so long. He’s never been the type to wait out his victims and make them worry themselves half to death. He would much rather resort to physical violence immediately. </p><p>The sort of domesticity Nathaniel has found himself in is perhaps one of the most challenging things he’d ever had to address. He can handle beatings and assholes, but someone offering him the TV remote? Asking if he wants anything from the grocery store? Letting him know when they’re retiring to bed? That stuff—foreign grounds. So, Nathaniel addresses it by not addressing it. He deflects. </p><p>“You need to eat more, kid,” Wymack would say. Abby hovers and Wymack nags. That is their dynamic. Nathaniel thinks they would probably make a good couple.</p><p>“You <em>need</em> to let me go back to the Nest,” Nathaniel would respond, causing Wymack to let out a heavy sigh and drop the topic. Was it a childish retort? Yes. Did he care? Not particularly. He doesn’t really tend to think much about what he lets come out of his mouth. Lots of people can attest to that. </p><p>However, although Nathaniel’s been on edge, Kevin and his Fox groupies haven’t shown their face since the initial breakfast encounter, which Nathaniel is more than okay with. He assumes they’re still at their house in Columbia. Maybe if he’s lucky he won’t see them again before he leaves. </p><p>Of course, Nathaniel is <em>never</em> lucky—or at least not whenever it’s in his best interest to <em>not</em> be lucky—because the following day is when they return. Nathaniel is seated on the couch, his feet planted on the ground so he can get up and move quickly if he needs to. Wymack is sitting in the recliner, casually flipping through channels. Nathaniel thinks Abby is somewhere upstairs. Nathaniel’s eyes immediately shoot over to the door when he hears the cluster of voices approaching from behind it. He goes to move and disappear upstairs, but the front door lies in front of the living room and the stairs. Before he can so much as stand up, the front door is swinging open and Nicky barges through, chatting excitedly. The other three file in quickly after and their gazes migrate towards the pair in the living room. Nicky opens his mouth to say something but falters. A moment later, Kevin is pushing through Nicky and Aaron—or at least Nathaniel assumes it’s Aaron based on the annoyed rather than manic look on his face.</p><p>“Nathaniel, what the hell!?” Kevin shouts. </p><p>The redhead immediately tenses, not knowing what Kevin’s going on about after <em>having just walked through the door</em> but ready to fight regardless. Kevin marches forward, but stops at the threshold of the carpet and stares at Nathaniel, his eyes incredibly wide and perturbed. Or rather, at something on Nathaniel’s face. And that’s when Nathaniel remembers he’s not wearing the bandages. His face is on clear display for them to see, including the inked <em>4</em> on his cheek. </p><p>He certainly hasn’t forgotten about it, but he’s avoided the mirror since the first night. Abby and Wymack already knew about the number; they saw it when they were patching Nathaniel up after Wymack first brought him here. The two must’ve picked up on his trepidation in regards to the tattoo because they wisely haven’t brought it up. And so Nathaniel hasn’t made a big deal out of it either. He was addressing the issue by not addressing the issue. And it was working great until Kevin walked through the door.</p><p> “Kevin, if you’re going to start a fight, walk right back out that door,” Wymack says. Kevin ignores him. </p><p>“He inked you,” Kevin says hollowly, eyes still latched onto Nathaniel’s left cheekbone. Nathaniel clenches his jaw and stares silently back. “He marked you for his perfect court. You haven’t even officially signed with the Ravens yet!”</p><p>Andrew comes up behind Kevin and rakes his gaze over Nathaniel’s tattoo. “Hmmm. Number four. Four is a bore. Four is a bore who wants to be more. Come on, Kevin. Did you really expect anything different? He’s a Raven-to-be. This is his first flight out of the Nest. He’ll return soon enough.”</p><p>Kevin and Nathaniel both ignore Andrew. </p><p>“How do you know?” Nathaniel bites back, referred to the last thing Kevin said. “I could’ve already signed. What’s signing a few months early we’ve I’ve already been there for years?” </p><p>“Years?” He hears Nicky echo from somewhere behind Kevin. </p><p>Nathaniel internally flinches at the information he just willingly gave out, but it’s not like it matters. They must know Kevin was at the Nest for years—longer than Nathaniel. Plus, he doesn’t really care what they think of him. </p><p>“You’re lying,” Kevin shoots back. “The Master wouldn’t have you sign this early. He wouldn’t have let Riko ink you either.”</p><p>“Nathaniel,” Wymack says, getting the redhead’s attention. He’s coming back from the kitchen. He must’ve left the room with Nathaniel noticing. The older man jingles his keys, a clear sign to the teen. Nathaniel goes to push himself up, as well. </p><p>“Didn’t you hear what I said earlier?” Nathaniel snarks. He feels a headache growing in intensity behind his temples. “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to <em>see</em> you. In fact, I’d be perfectly content if I never got to talk or see you again in my life because every time I do I’m filled with this <em>bottomless rage</em> that’s honestly even surprising to me. A little PSA for you Kevin. If you’re going to be a douche, at least own up to it.”</p><p>Nathaniel drags his gaze from a fuming Kevin to land on Andrew. The blond looks positively elating to have gained Nathaniel’s attention, but the redhead keeps his chin high. “And don’t worry. I’ll be going back to the Nest soon enough and you’ll never have to see me again.”</p><p>“Oh, and I’m so happy to hear that,” Andrew croons.</p><p>“You’re happy to hear anything,” Nathaniel quips back. He twirls his finger around in the air next to his head, clearly signalizing what he thinks of Andrew’s mental state. He then steps around the two and heads to the door where Wymack stands with an exasperated expression. A string of French stops him when he’s only a few strides away from the door.</p><p>“Did you—Does Ichirou have anything to do with you getting inked early?”</p><p>Nathaniel freezes at the words. Processes them. His gaze narrows down until he can barely see anything, barely <em>register</em> anything. He hasn’t thought much about Ichirou since showing up in Palmetto. His main focus has been on the Master and his father and Riko, but now that Kevin mentions it, he feels <em>so stupid</em>. Ichirou. How could he not have thought about Ichirou? Nathaniel is still trying to piece together what exactly happened the night he was sent away—at the Nest and what led up to Riko’s temper tantrum, not that the striker really needed a valid reason to get violent. But Nathaniel <em>knows</em> something had happened. </p><p>But Kevin didn’t bring up Ichirou for that reason—Kevin doesn’t even <em>know</em> something had happened up North. He’s more in the dark than Nathaniel. No, Kevin mentioned Ichirou because, like <em>always</em>, he doesn’t know when to draw the line. The best—or possibly the worst—thing about it is that Kevin genuinely doesn’t think he’s saying anything wrong. Nathaniel wonders how he can be this dense in private but so well-spoken in front of the press. </p><p>Nathaniel knows what Kevin’s words imply. And when Nathaniel thinks of Ichirou—about what Kevin <em>thinks</em> he knows about Ichirou and Nathaniel’s relationship—Nathaniel inevitably thinks of Sasha. Because it’s not Ichirou. It’s never been Ichirou that Nathaniel does…does those things with. And then, of course, Nathaniel is reminded of what else greets him back in West Virginia and the shame and the hate and the anger rise again until it’s all practically radiating off of him. </p><p>Nathaniel’s turning on his heel before he even fully realizes he’s moving. His hand swings out on instinct. He’s wanted to hit Kevin outside of the Exy court <em>for years</em>. Kevin deserves it. He more than deserves just one hit for everything he’s put Nathaniel and Jean through—everything he’s <em>allowed</em> them to be put through. </p><p>Someone is pushing Nathaniel back though before he can fully hit Kevin. His nails still rake across Kevin’s face, right over his <em>stupid inked 2</em>. Kevin curses and jerks away, but Nathaniel already feels the give of flesh under his nails, feels a flash of satisfaction that he’s hurt the great Kevin Day who’s seemed so out of reach and untouchable—until now, that is. And then Nathaniel is flying back, being pressed against the couch and held there by firm hands. His natural response is to fight back and push the biting hands away, but the cool touch of something too familiar against his neck causes him to initially freeze. His eyes act to correct his brain, which is currently telling him he’s at the Nest with the knife, at the apartment with the hands. It’s too loud and bright here to be either. </p><p>“Andrew!”</p><p>“Keep your hands to yourself, Nate,” Andrew hisses in the redhead’s face. His eyes are burning gold and his mouth is curled into a snarl. “Or else I might need to give you an ouchie that matches the one Kevin just got.” He raises the blade so it taps against Nathaniel’s new tattoo. </p><p>The redhead raises his chin, distancing himself from the knife without flinching. His own mouth is twisted in a snarl. His skin prickles at being cornered and held down against the couch by someone clearly stronger than him, but Wymack and Abby are here—it’s fine. <em>He’s</em> fine.</p><p>“I could say that same thing to you,” Nathaniel spits back. “Get off me.”</p><p> He tries to twist out of Andrew’s hold but with no avail. Andrew’s grasp is relentless as he presses over Nathaniel’s healing wounds. This time Nathaniel does wince, and Andrew’s snarl morphs into a sort of sadistic grin as he leans in closer. </p><p>“I wasn’t unprovoked. Kevin is my responsibility. You attack him; I attack you. Simple really. Maybe not for someone like you who’s clearly taken many hits to the head. So, let me spell this out for you.” All the madness suddenly evaporates from Andrew’s face, as if it was never there to begin with. He leans even closer until his breath is brushing against Nathaniel’s face and he whispers, “If you don’t voluntarily leave within a week, I will <em>personally</em> make sure you’re gone, one way or another.”</p><p>Andrew’s then yanked away from Nathaniel, and the redhead gasps in the air he was denied while Andrew was holding him down. Nathaniel glares at the blond, but he’s too busy turning his knife on Wymack. The coach had been the one who pried Andrew off Neil. The older man throws his hands up, anger clear in his features. </p><p>“Out!”</p><p>Andrew barely bats an eye but turns to look at Kevin who’s currently holding his cheek and being crowded by Nicky. </p><p>“Kevin, let me see,” the cousin is saying. </p><p>“Are you bleeding?” Wymack asks Nathaniel. The redhead shakes his head and the tension in Wymack’s shoulders evaporates. But it doesn’t stay that way for long. The Foxes coach is leaning forward the next moment. “What the hell did you do that for?!”</p><p>Nathaniel shrinks back against the couch, trying to make himself smaller under the pointed gaze of the older man. Wymack turns his gaze away to look at Kevin who’s lowered his hand by now. He has three scratches on his cheeks, only two are bleeding. It’s a cat scratch. It won’t even scar. Nothing to cry and whine over, but it is Kevin Day. Nathaniel’s mouth twists as he sees all of them nursing over the barely-there scratches. He wishes he’d gotten a better shot in.  </p><p>And then Wymack is turning back to Nathaniel and there’s the briefest flash of anger, but that’s enough. A switch is flipped in Nathaniel’s head. He just hurt <em>Kevin Day</em>, even if it was a small injury. He was a Fox. A player on Wymack’s team. Wymack is definitely pissed; Abby’s going to be pissed; Kevin’s groupies are already pissed. Nathaniel doesn’t care about their opinions. He <em>doesn’t</em>. They don’t deserve any explanation from him. But they don't want one. Nathaniel broke an unspoken rule. He pushes further back against the cushions, hoping the couch will swallow him whole. He’s been on the receiving end of those furious glares before. His father always dragged him away afterward. And here Nathaniel had aggravated the issue by attacking Kevin. He was asking for it. The redhead stares up at Wymack, frozen and waiting. Riko would have already been on him.</p><p>The anger had vanished by now, leaving down frustration and annoyance behind. Wymack appraises Nathaniel before barking at the others in the room. </p><p>“Kevin! Go see Abby.” Nathaniel hadn’t noticed the blonde standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking unsure on how to approach the situation. Wymack turns back to Nathaniel and shucks the keys at his chest. “Outside.”</p><p>Nathaniel grips the keys and bolts from the couch. He’s outside, breathing in the balmy summer air the next second. Just then a thought crosses through his mind: he could leave. Run and not look back. Of course, Wymack is right on his tail and Nathaniel has no means to return to West Virginia unless he wants to hitchhike or somehow get a hold of The Master. Wymack’s presence right behind him makes up his mind and Nathaniel makes a beeline for the car. He climbs in the passenger seat, settles against the door, and tosses the keys in the driver’s seat. </p><p>Wymack opens the door a moment later and when he gets it, he just sits there. Nathaniel stares straight ahead, tracing the square indents in the garage door. When Wymack raises his hand, Nathaniel's shoulders bunch up to his ears and he ducks his head down closer to the corner of the seat and the car. Wymack stops his movement of putting the keys in the ignition and Nathaniel freezes, realizing his mistake, yet again. </p><p><em>You’re getting sloppy</em>, his mother’s and Nathaniel’s voices say together. <em>You’re attracting attention.</em></p><p>“Nathaniel—“</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Nathaniel chokes out, to Wymack, to his mom. </p><p>“It’s okay,” Wymack says, but his voice sounds tight and controlled. “I’m not angry at you.”</p><p>Nathaniel knows that’s a lie. He <em>saw</em> it inside. “I hit Kevin.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Nathaniel blinks and rephrases the words. “I hurt your player.” <em>I made him bleed.</em></p><p>Rather than responding, Wymack turns the key in the ignition and reverses the truck out of the driveway. They’re on the road for a few minutes before Wymack finally says something. </p><p>“I don’t condone violence. But I also know where Foxes come from. Unfortunately, you’re all closely acquainted with violence. I’m trying to change that moving forward. It’s a bumpy road, but I signed up for this. I don’t know what Kevin said back there or the extent of your relationship with him—“ Nathaniel cringes “—but I <em>do</em> know Kevin probably deserved it.”</p><p>Wymack lets out another heavy sigh and drags a hand down his face. Nathaniel’s turned his head slightly so he can look at the older man, but he still stays close to the door, his hand on the handle. </p><p>“I’m not a Fox,” is what Nathaniel ends up saying through numb lips. </p><p>“You could be,” Wymack replies back easily. </p><p>“No, I <em>can’t</em>.”</p><p>“Let’s ignore all this Moriyama bullshit,” Wyamck says. “If that wasn’t a factor, would you want to stay?”</p><p>Nathaniel’s mind blanks for a moment because <em>how can that not be a factor</em>? That’s like—like not considering the sun or money or—<em>or anything that’s fucking so painfully intertwined with your life</em>. The Moriyamas aren’t <em>a factor</em>; they’re the whole fucking story. It’s not a piece he can omit, it’s a huge net that pushes him under. </p><p>“You can’t ask me that.”</p><p>“I just did.”</p><p>“Well, then I can’t answer that.”</p><p>Wymack exhales loudly and crawls to a stop at an intersection. </p><p>“What do you think of us, kid?”</p><p>Nathaniel squirms in his seat a bit, sitting up a little taller. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“What’s your impression of us?”</p><p>Nathaniel snorts and rolls his eyes. He looks out the window and focuses on the passing scenery, imagining that he’s running this stretch instead of riding along in the passenger side of a beat-up truck. </p><p>“Kevin’s a whiny coward who’s all bark and no bite. I guess Andrew makes up for that considering he's all bite. He’s crazy. I don’t understand why you keep him on the team, even if he is as good as Kevin says he is. I don’t know much about Aaron and Nicky, but I don’t trust them. I don’t trust any of you. Abby is nice—it’s weird. I thought—after the first night—it’s weird. And you’re…” <em>You remind me of my father, but you're also nothing like him</em>. “I don’t understand why you’re doing all of this. I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”</p><p>“Kid, if the Foxes ever had a slogan that would be it.” </p><p>Nathaniel shrugs and continues to look outside. He’s beginning to grow tired again. </p><p>“Listen, I’m not your keeper. Staying is ultimately up to you, but—“</p><p>Nathaniel lifts his head from the window, finding a newfound vigor at Wymack’s words. “But you don’t think I can make a rational choice, do you? Is that why you and Abby have been babying me and not letting me out of your sight?”</p><p>“<em>But</em>,” Wymack continues, ignoring Nathaniel’s interruption, “I think you could use some persistence. You should want good things for you, kid.” </p><p>“And Palmetto State Foxes is that?” Nathaniel sneers back. </p><p>“Well, I know it’s certainly better whatever shitshow Tetsuji is running at Edgar Allan.”</p><p>“He’s running the country’s best Exy team,” Nathaniel snaps back. “And to be a part of that, there are prices to pay.”</p><p>Wymack is the one to scoff this time. He shakes his head and looks over when they stop at another intersection. His eyes are trained on Nathaniel, but the redhead knows he’s looking at the healing cuts and bruises, his tattoo, the scars. </p><p>“Not like this,” Wymack says. </p><p>Nathaniel swallows the lump in his throat and looks back at the window. </p><p><em>Of course like this</em>, he thinks bitterly. And he stomps down any rising hope that <em>this</em> might be different in the future. </p><p><em>You’re a Raven</em>, he reminds himself. <em>Not a Fox.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello, hello! I ended up cutting this chapter in half because it just kept growing. I am very busy right now but wanted to get something out to you guys this week! Also, I officially added the slow-burn tag. It happened. We're almost at 50k and I see everything else I have plotted and am like o_o</p><p>Hope you guys like it! If you did leave a kudos or comment or bookmark! Any form of interaction is greatly appreciated! </p><p>And get excited about the next two chapters because I know I definitely am ;)</p><p>Also, feel free to follow me on <a href="https://twitter.com/emptyambrosia">Twitter</a>!!</p><p>Thanks for reading!</p><p>-orth</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Calling Him Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wymack ends up shifting the topic when it becomes clear that Nathaniel is not going to talk any more about staying in Palmetto.</p><p><em>Join the Foxes</em>, he mentally scoffs. <em>It’s a foolish thought.</em></p><p>So, Nathaniel turns his body more towards the door, obviously closing himself off from the conversation. Wymack picks up on it and thankfully doesn’t push—that time, that is. Nathaniel is sure the coach will be singing the same song soon. However, when Wymack opens his mouth again, it’s to ask Nathaniel how he would feel about moving into his apartment. Nathaniel stays still and shocked, thinking and processing. Wymack explains that Kevin and his crowd typically stay at Abby’s until the dorms open back up in June. The past few nights they’ve been in Columbia, but Kevin refuses to stay away from the court for longer than a few days. Nathaniel rolls his eyes at that, ignoring the part of himself that understands that fear. It’s what has made his skin crawl and stretch over the past few days as he’s been on strict lockdown. And Wymack doesn’t say it, but Nathaniel can sense it under his words: <em>I can’t kick Kevin and the others out because they were there first, they’re top priority.</em></p><p>Nathaniel gets it. He does. Wymack has an obligation to his players first and foremost. Nathaniel doesn’t need Abby’s constant supervision anymore now that he’s healed to some extent. So, he couldn’t expect Abby and Wymack to keep Kevin and the others away for a couple more weeks, not because of the agreement they made with the boy, and certainly not just for <em>him.</em></p><p>So, he gets it. But does he like it? Not particularly. Living alone with a man that reminds him of his father—yet <em>not</em> at the same time—is not ideal. Although, nothing in Nathaniel’s life is particularly ideal. And it’s not like he really has a choice in the matter. He can’t stay at Abby’s. </p><p><em>Plus</em>, Nathaniel tells himself, <em>I won’t be here for much longer.</em></p><p>So, he mutters out a “that’s fine” and Wymack gives a short nod and that’s that. Nathaniel doesn’t know how much longer they end up driving around. His eyelids grow heavy, but he doesn’t allow them to fall closed. They soon pull back into Abby’s driveway. Nathaniel notices that the black car he spotted on the curb earlier is now gone. When he steps foot into the house and is met with an eerie silence, his suspicion that Kevin and the others are gone is confirmed. Abby must’ve heard the front door because she appears at the bottom of the steps soon enough. </p><p>“They boys went to the court,” she explains as she looks at Wymack. </p><p>When she flicks her gaze to Nathaniel, he expects the apprehensiveness, soaks it in. Abby tries to give him a small smile, but he can see the tense and twitching muscles. Wymack brushes by them both and heads up the stairs. Nathaniel supposes he’s getting his duffle bag full of belongings—Wymack has been staying here the past few days to help Abby  “babysit” Nathaniel—Jailor #1 and #2. At least, that’s what Nathaniel assumes he’s doing. It’s not like Nathaniel has any items here to pack up. He was sent to Palmetto with barely any clothes on his back, and Kevin’s jersey isn’t something he would want to keep anyway. Nathaniel doesn’t even know what Wymack and Abby did with it, but he doesn’t care. Somehow Andrew managed to find out about it, though, which is…unsettling to say the least. </p><p>Nathaniel feels Abby’s gaze on him, but he pointedly looks anywhere but at her. She might be better at hiding it, but Nathaniel knows what she’s thinking. It’s all the same. He avoids having to look at his own image, but he knows what he looks like, especially when he’s lashing out. </p><p><em>“He’s feral,”</em> the Ravens would say. </p><p>
  <em>“He’s got the Butcher’s smile.”</em>
</p><p><em>“Just like his daddy,”</em> Riko would goad, grinning wildly while Kevin looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. </p><p>“Take it easy,” Abby says, pulling him out of his thoughts. Nathaniel focused on the wall next to her. “I know how David is. He’s all gas and no breaks, but don’t think you can sneak past him. Even though you’re healed enough to move out doesn’t mean you can go run off. And you need to be careful with your knee. As I said, I don’t think it’s anything internal but don’t push it.”</p><p>Even though Nathaniel isn’t looking at her face, he can tell she’s giving him a rather stern look. Stern by her standards, of course. Nathaniel’s used to facing much harsher and more commanding individuals. And if he doesn’t fold under those pining gazes, he’ll barely bat an eye at Abby’s. She can tell him to stay put all she wants, but she’ll find her words have little influence over what he chooses to do. Nathaniel’s been told he’s rather difficult in that way. </p><p>“You also might wanna…,” her voice trails off, but out of the corner of Nathaniel’s gaze, he sees her fingers raise up to graze her cheek. He knows what she means: cover the tattoo. </p><p>The corner of his mouth quirks up just slightly, but a bad taste is left in his mouth. He pushes down the urge to tell her he’s not going to attack every person who spots his mark. He didn’t even attack Kevin for <em>that</em> reason, but she doesn’t need to know why he attacked the striker. No one does. It’s not any of their business—not any of <em>Kevin’s</em> business, and it’s time for the striker to learn that. Although, Nathaniel’s sure the smack to the head didn’t <em>actually</em> get the message through Kevin’s head. </p><p>“Okay,” Nathaniel responds. He knows—the drama aside—it’s smarter to cover the tattoo. If anyone else did happen to see it—anyone outside the Foxes—and word spread…well, he’d rather not have that happen. His name and number will be announced soon enough as a new addition to the Raven’s line-up, but he’s not rushing in excitement for that news to get out there. </p><p>So he trails up the stairs and into the hall bathroom where he knows Abby keeps a basic first aid kit in the medicine cabinet. A patch of gaze and some medical tape is all it takes. When he heads back down the stairs, Wymack is already there, his duffel bag zipped up and slung over his shoulder, talking with Abby. Nathaniel catches the end of their conversation right as he steps off the last stair. </p><p>“…don’t think he should be moving much,” Abby finishes saying. Both of their eyes turn to him when he comes into view. </p><p>The wave of disappointment that washes over him is immediate. His stomach sinks. He’s moving out of Abby’s house. Isn’t that acknowledgment enough that he’s doing better—<em>healing</em>? He can run; he can play. He’s fine. He knows that he’s fine, but he needs them to understand that he’s fine.</p><p>“Can I—,” he begins, then stops himself when both Abby and Wymack turn to him. He falls back on his heels. “I’m better—okay now. Really. If you won’t let me run, at least let me go to the court.”</p><p><em>Specifically, when Kevin and the others aren’t there</em>, he adds. </p><p>The thought of returning to the court is akin to downing multiple energy drinks. His nerves are alight and his fingers already twitching for the familiar feel of an Exy racquet. He sees Wymack spare Abby a considering glance, but she responds with a glare and shakes her head. Nathaniel dares the hope that appealing to Wyamck’s earlier suggestion—the foolish thought—of his joining the Foxes will convince the coach to let him into the court—even if it is only temporary. Something transpires between the two—Nathaniel can see it, but he doesn’t know what the conclusion is. Wymack looks at him and jerks his head towards the front door. </p><p>“Come on.”</p><p>Nathaniel looks at Abby one last time before darting back out to the car. He doesn’t know what to say to her—about him staying here, at her house—so he doesn’t say anything. The ride to Wymack’s apartment is normal enough. The drowsiness is still hovering below Nathaniel’s skin, but his wariness overpowers it. It’s not until they park outside of what Nathaniel assumes is Wymack’s apartment building that the bundles of fear slowly begin to unravel in the pits of his stomach. As they walk in and up he tells himself this is nothing like the vacation home in West Virginia and Wymack is nothing like his father, but the more he mentally repeats it, the more the irrational fear grows—is it irrational? Has any circumstance in Nathaniel’s life that’s ever resulted in fear been irrational? Maybe, he’d have to—</p><p>“This is it,” Wymack grumbles as he stops in front of a single painted door. </p><p>Nathaniel halts in his steps, making sure he stops out of arm’s reach. Not that it really matters. He is going to be living with Wymack from now on. </p><p><em>Which won’t be much longer</em>, he reminds himself. <em>You’re going back to The Nest soon.</em></p><p>He’s conflicted over the simultaneous dread and relief he feels from that statement. </p><p>“It’s not much,” Wymack says as he pushes open the door and steps into the apartment. Nathaniel hesitantly follows, darting his eyes around the space to survey the room. “It’s cluttered and a tight squeeze—I don’t know where or how I accumulated all this shit—but it works.”</p><p>Nathaniel scours his gaze over the open space kitchen, living, and dining room. His eyes trail down the hall that likely leads to the bedroom. Wymack turns around to face him, drawing the redhead’s attention to him. </p><p>“Listen,” the coach sighs, “I—If you want to go to the court, I’m not going to keep you away, <em>but</em> I do have one condition you have to follow if you want these keys.”</p><p>Wymack jingles his key ring. One of the keys on there led them into this apartment, and Nathaniel’s sure another one of those keys would lead them into the Exy stadium. However, the added ‘but’ halts any rising excitement Nathaniel feels. The sour feeling beings to materialize in his mouth as he waits for Wymack to spout out the exception. There’s <em>always</em> an exception. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I want you to continue meeting with Betsy.”</p><p>Nathaniel’s aversion for Wymack’s exception must show on his face because the coach’s frown deepens. He holds firm, though. Wymack jingles the keyring again as if asking <em>‘how badly do you want this?’</em> Nathaniel feels his face screw up further into a scowl. </p><p><em>It’s just the shrink</em>, he tries to reason. <em>So Wymack wants me to keep meeting with her. That doesn’t mean I have to talk.</em></p><p>“Fine,” Nathaniel grits out through clenched teeth after a moment. He ignores the smug look that settles on the older man’s face. “I’ll meet with the stupid therapist.”</p><p>
  <em>You won’t be here long, you won’t be here long, you won’t be here long—</em>
</p><p>“Great,” Wymack says. “We’ll stop by her place tomorrow. An hour with her gives you an hour at the court.”</p><p>Nathaniel fixes Wymack with a disbelieving look. The older man doesn’t waver under his glare, he simply raises an eyebrow and says, “What? You got plans tomorrow or something?”</p><p>He knows Nathaniel doesn’t. The redhead only continues to glower, so Wymack clenches the keyring in his hand again before waving towards the hallway. “The bedroom is down the hall.”</p><p>Nathaniel rocks forward but then glances at the Foxes coach for clarification. Wymack just nods his head in the direction of the hallway again, signaling for Nathaniel to hurry the fuck up. The redhead takes a step forward, keeping a careful eye out for Wymack following him. The hallway is likely a dead-end. There might be a window, but Nathaniel knows they’re too high up for windows to be useful. The older man, however, stays in the living room as Nathaniel ventures down the hallway and into one of the rooms—the one that looks like it hasn’t been turned into a chaotic home office. The apartment is small enough that Nathaniel can hear Wymack’s naturally booming voice from the living room easily. </p><p>“You can pass out in there. I’ll take the couch tonight. Don’t mess with my shit.”</p><p>Nathaniel stares at the rumpled bedsheets as Wymack’s words ring in his head. As tempting as the bed does look right now, he knows that the coach is offering Nathaniel his own room—the only bedroom in this place—so the older man can stand guard outside in the main room. There is a window on the far wall, but it’s an unrealistic escape route. The only way out is through the front door—the front door Wymack will be sleeping only a few yards away from. </p><p>As a response, Nathaniel slams the bedroom door shut, not caring that the frame shakes. He hears Wymack’s muted curse through the closed door and thinks <em>good, yes, cast me off when I piss you off. I’m not worth it all.</em></p><p>Nathaniel locks the door before plopping down on the bed, his face once again twisted into a scowl. Wymack doesn’t say anything else though, so Nathaniel’s body gradually starts to relax and loosen. He doesn’t know how long it takes—maybe only a few minutes or maybe a few hours—but he eventually sinks into the covers and drifts off.</p><p>*****</p><p>Nathaniel raises his fist to knock on the red-painted door. He looks over his shoulder at Wymack who’s sitting in his truck and watching. This is ridiculous. Nathaniel feels like he’s a child getting dropped off for daycare and Wymack is the doting parent making sure he gets picked up before driving off. Nathaniel tries to relay his displeasure via his glare, but the Foxes coach barely bats an eye. His gaze is dragged away from the beat-up truck when the front door cracks open. Betsy greets him with a smile and ushers him inside. He’s careful not to touch her as he squeezes by. The shrink leans out the door and waves at Wymack. The coach waves back before his engine roars and he’s reversing out of the driveway. </p><p><em>One hour</em>, Nathaniel reminds himself. <em>You just have to be here for one hour and then he’ll take you to the court.</em></p><p>“Are you hungry?” Betsy asks once she closes the door. </p><p>Nathaniel settles for a shrug, looking around her place. It’s small but nice and cozy—foreign to Nathaniel. Nothing about his living situation has ever been cozy.</p><p>“Come on in the kitchen. I was actually just about to make some breakfast.”</p><p>He reluctantly trails behind her into the other room. Nathaniel initially wondered why Wymack was willing to drop Nathaniel off at Betsy’s house and leave. It would be easy for Nathaniel to take off. He’s sure he can find some cash laying around here, sneak out, and catch a bus heading up north. Once they step foot in the kitchen, however, Nathaniel sees the likely reason as to why Wymack was okay with just dropping him off here. </p><p>The dog is sitting on the floor right in front of the kitchen entrance. It’s rather large. Its coat is a mix of browns and blacks. There’s a bit of white on its chest and paws. Its tongue is hanging out of its mouth as it stares down Nathaniel. </p><p>“You’re not allergic to dogs, are you?” Betsy asks as she steps around the animal. The dog comes up past her hip. “If so, we can always go out to get breakfast.”</p><p>Nathaniel shakes his head and the dog shifts but stays sitting. </p><p>“This is Wookiee,” Betsy says, then laughs. “My niece actually named him. Our family is full of Star Wars fans. He was just a big fluff ball when he was a puppy and the name stuck.”</p><p>Nathaniel has no idea what she just said. None of it makes sense to him. </p><p>“He’s really friendly and actually pretty smart,” Betsy explains as she digs out some items from the fridge. “If you don’t want him in here, though, I can send him into another room. Do you like dogs?”</p><p>His only experience with dogs had been while on the run. While traveling from place to place and crashing in some rather sketchy getups, there were some stray dogs they would come across. And if they didn’t see them, they often heard them barking and howling and growling. One time one of the stray mutts actually came up to Nathaniel. He was waiting outside in a nearby alley while his mother ducked into one of the little shops down the street to do what she called “business.” She gave him two warm rolls of bread she managed to get by flirting with the baker. He tucked the food into his pockets with his hands and huddled against the wall. It was starting to get chilly in Berlin, so he had his jacket wrapped tight around him. The bread rolls radiated warmth from his pockets and the smell alone caused his mouth to water and his stomach to swirl. And then this dog came out from deeper into the alley. Nathaniel froze and shrank back deeper into the shadows, but the dog still managed to sniff him out—or more accurately, sniff the <em>bread</em> out. He was ready to run. More times than not, the strays they come across are starved and rapid—definitely not friendly. But he didn’t run this time; he stayed still and the dog came up and nudged against his hand that was stuffed in his pocket, clenched around a piece of bread. Nathaniel could see the dog’s ribs and he didn’t know exactly what possessed him to pull one of the bread rolls from his pocket and give a piece of it to the dog, but he did. The dog immediately gobbled it down, wagged its tail, and stepped closer. It’s wet nose brushes against the back of his hand as it searched for more. He gave it another piece and then another. When his mother came back out from the shop and met him in the alley, she chased the dog away. By that time Nathaniel has fed the dog half of one of the rolls. His mother was furious when she found out and smacked him upside the head. </p><p>
  <em>“You stupid, stupid boy! Do not waste our food on some mutt that’s just going to die anyway, do you understand? And what if it bit you!? You need to think! This is why I can’t leave you alone!”</em>
</p><p>“They’re alright,” Nathaniel mumbles. </p><p>Those words seem to be the approval the dog was looking for because it—<em>he</em>—gets up and pads towards Nathaniel. His wet nose brushes against Nathaniel’s bruised fingers. He hesitantly reaches out and scratches the bridge of the dog’s nose. Wookiee leans his head up, relishing in the attention. He gives Nathaniel’s fingers a lick with his rough tongue before padding back off to see what Betsy’s doing. </p><p>“Do you want eggs or oatmeal?” </p><p>“Um, either is fine,” Nathaniel says slowly as he approaches. </p><p>She has all the ingredients laid out on the counter. Nathaniel’s sure she told Abby about his…hesitation?…issue?—whatever—his weird thing about eating food made by other people. So, they let him make his own food. Like a big boy. This quiet tip-toeing around him—others might call it consideration but it just fuels Nathaniel’s anger. He looks at the clock to find that barely five minutes have passed. </p><p>He deliberately is slow and meticulous when making his food, trying to drag out the process for as long as possible. He goes for some an egg and a piece of toast. His appetite is still small—another thing Abby and Wymack have noticed. So, they make the effort to make food more than three times a day. Abby always says she’s making herself a snack anyway, but Nathaniel knows it’s only an attempt to get him to eat something more. </p><p>By the time he finishes putting together his plate, nearly twenty minutes have passed. Betsy finished making her food before him, but she hasn’t cut into it. Wookiee, meanwhile, has been laying on the hardwood floor, waiting for both of them. </p><p>“Let’s eat in the living room today,” Betsy says as if they’ve done this before. “After I first wake up I have a habit of making breakfast and sitting down to watch an episode of whatever show I’m currently watching. It’s my morning routine of sorts.”</p><p>Wookiee picks himself up and trails after the two of them as they head back into the living room. Betsy sits in the armchair, so Nathaniel takes the coach.</p><p>“Oh, I forgot the drinks! Do you want coffee, water, orange juice…?”</p><p>“Um, water is fine.”</p><p>Betsy hurries back into the kitchen. As soon as she disappears from sight, Nathaniel’s eyes glance towards the door. Wookiee whines and lays his head on the couch cushions, looking up at Nathaniel with brown judgemental eyes. </p><p>“What?” He hisses back. Then adds, “I wasn’t gonna leave.”</p><p>Betsy comes back into the room and hands Nathaniel the glass of water before settling back in her spot with her mug of coffee. </p><p>“I always start my day off with a cup of coffee,” she states. “Another part of my morning ritual. It just helps get me going and really marks the beginning of my day.”</p><p>Nathaniel nods and folds his egg over with his fork. Wookiee lays down on the floor at his feet. Luckily it’s warm out because Nathaniel’s been having to wear Wymack huge slides since he doesn’t have his own shoes here. Wookiee’s warm breath brushes against his toes with each exhale. </p><p>“What are some things you like to do when you first wake up?”</p><p>Nathaniel slowly slides his gaze over to give Betsy a withering look. <em>‘I know what you’re doing,’</em> he relays to her once again. She just blinks at him and takes a bite of her scrambled eggs. She’s in full shrink mode now. </p><p>“Depends,” he says, purposefully being difficult. </p><p>“On what?”</p><p>“On where I’m at.” He takes a bite of his food; flexes his toes in the carpet. </p><p>“Okay, so normally what would you do in the morning?”</p><p>“Look, you’re—,” Nathaniel sighs. “I’m not going to open up to you just because you ask nicely. My thoughts haven’t changed in the past few days.”</p><p>“And that’s okay. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, Nathaniel. I’m trying to get to know you.”</p><p>Nathaniel scoffs and stuffs more eggs into his mouth. Betsy doesn’t falter and picks up the TV remote. </p><p>“Do you mind what we watch?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Betsy ends up playing the next episode in the show she’s currently watching. Nathaniel doesn’t even look up at the screen to check the name before she clicks plays. He jumps slightly when he feels Wookiee’s warm and rough tongue on his toes, drawing Betsy’s attention back to him. </p><p>“Wookiee,” she scolds. She even does <em>that</em> gently. “I can put him in another room. It’s really no problem.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Nathaniel says. He wiggles his toes under the dog’s chin. It’s a bit uncomfortable. He still has some scrapes healing, but it doesn’t hurt. </p><p>Nathaniel finishes eating his food before Betsy’s even halfway done with hers. Wookiee jumps on the couch next to him once he puts his plate aside, causing him to tense up and Betsy to scold the dog again. But Nathaniel waves her off again. Wookiee settles close to him but not close enough that they’re touching. After a while, Nathaniel hesitantly reaches out to run his hand through the thick and curled fur along Wookiee’s back. </p><p>Occasionally, Betsy asks questions. Some about the show and some about broader things. She’s still in shrink mode, and while she’s persistent, she’s not pushy. Nathaniel’s answers are short and closed-off, but he doesn’t find himself necessarily getting frustrated. She gives him space, both physically and psychologically. That’s how the rest of the hour goes until Wymack shows up. He glances between the two of them before telling Nathaniel to hurry into the truck if he wants to go to the court, which he does. </p><p>When they pull up next to the giant orange and white building, Nathaniel’s hit with the memory of the last time he was here. He was bloody and delirious in the dark, clad in only Kevin’s jersey. As they climb out of the truck, Nathaniel purposely avoids looking at the specific spot on the pavement where Wymack found him only days ago. He absently wonders if the blood stained the black dark pavement. </p><p>He stares straight ahead as he follows Wymack to the outer gates. He can’t see around the larger man to see what he punches in as the key code, but the coach is soon swinging open the door and the two of them are heading down a long hallway. </p><p>Even from the beginning, everything is so different. The walls and floor are lighter, more colorful. The air is even not as heavy. It smells different—<em>feels</em> different. Wymack has to lead him through the hallways and to the locker room where it’s orange, orange, and more orange. </p><p>“We have extra uniforms and gear in the lockers at the end. The balls and racquets are locked up so come in the office after you change out,” Wymack says, vaguely gesturing to said lockers.</p><p>Nathaniel’s tenses. “I’m not changing out into a Fox uniform.”</p><p>“You are if you want to step foot on that court. We don’t have anything else here,” Wymack retorts before leaving the locker room and going into the office they passed earlier. </p><p>Nathaniel turns back to the rest of the locker room once the coach leaves. It’s a horrendous neon orange. The excitement and fulfillment he’d been feeling at the prospect of finally being able to return to court are being met head-on with growing dread. It’s too new—not the Exy part but the orange part. It’s foreign. Seeing Exy, something he’s so used to seeking solace in, displayed in a different light unnerving. </p><p>He swallows back his doubt, pushes it deep under he can pile everything else he has stored away on top of it. He walks over to the lockers Wymack gestured towards earlier and carefully opens it. It’s impossible to ignore the color, even as hard as he tries. The uniforms are the same ugly orange and white, a start contrast to Edgar Allen’s red and black. He briefly wonders how Kevin got used to it all, but he quickly pushes the silly thought out of his head and snags the uniform before he stalls any longer. </p><p>The clothes he’s currently wearing are Abby’s. He can change quickly enough without really looking at what he’s changing into. Strapping on the gear is muscle memory at this point. Luckily one of the spare pairs of court shoes is his size. Nathaniel strides out of the locker room as soon as he’s finished changing, not slowing down to see how he looks. Wymack’s office door is open and he’s sitting behind the desk when Nathaniel walks in. The coach’s eyes trail down the orange uniform the redhead wears. Nathaniel keeps his chin high and doesn’t falter under the scrutiny, despite the sinking feeling growing in his own stomach. It’s like a sinkhole that’s approaching collapse. </p><p>“You look good.”</p><p>“No, I don’t,” Nathaniel is quick to shoot back. </p><p>Wymack rolls his eyes and gets up to lead Nathaniel to the equipment closet. </p><p>“I shouldn’t have to tell you to not damage any of this, but seriously don’t damage anything,” the coach explains as he pulls out the Exy stick rack. </p><p>Nathaniel almost says, <em>‘Or what? You gonna kick me out then?’</em> but refrains.</p><p>“And don’t think you can sneak off either. The only way out is through my office and I <em>will</em> see you.” And with one last stern look, he disappears back to his office. </p><p>Nathaniel is left staring at the racquets. Orange, of course. His eyes automatically look for a traditional Backliner racquet. Heavier and slightly larger. The white and orange gloves he’s wearing wrap around the neck of the racquet as he yanks one out from its hold. His legs feel heavy and sluggish as he makes his way to the court. The Ravens practice multiple times a day whereas he’s been practically inactive for days now. </p><p>When he emerges from the tunnel and sees the court, the sinkhole in the put of his stomach collapses. </p><p>The court is smaller, brighter, <em>odd</em>. The racquets are different. The layout is different. The <em>color scheme…</em></p><p>Nathaniel feels the panic and hysteria bubbling up again. The <em>wrong wrong wrong</em> feeling pushes it’s way to the forefront and wraps around his throat, digging in with its thorns and refusing to recede without cutting him deep. They’re shackles. The mark is a clear indication of it. The number on his cheek sends a clear message to anyone that sees it: <em>You’re a Raven.</em></p><p><em>I’m not a Fox</em>, he says. Hot shame crawls up his body and floods his cheeks. He’s ashamed in this make-believe dress-up he’s currently attempting. He’s ashamed that he can’t seem to step on the court and play just because he’s wearing different colors. <em>It shouldn’t matter</em>. Since when did playing Exy become linked with Edgar Allen? Is he so screwed up that he can’t play Exy unless he’s in the Nest? </p><p>Nathaniel’s hand spasms and he drops the racquet. He barely registers it clatter against the floor. The terror grips him firmly, keeping him rooted and small. He <em>needs</em> to play but he <em>can’t</em>. Not here and not now. So, he runs. He runs and runs and runs until Wymack comes and pounds on the plexiglass, indicating that his hour is up. If the coach noticed the abandoned Exy racquet on the entryway of the court, he doesn’t say anything. </p><p>*****</p><p>Nathaniel goes back to Betsy’s the next day. He was upset yesterday when he found himself frozen on the edge of the court. He thought spending an hour with the shrink was all for nothing, but the next day he finds the thought of going back not completely horrible. He would at least get access to the court—even if he couldn’t convince himself to step foot on it and play yet—he would still be there. Being there was damaging and comforting at the same time. It was court but not <em>his</em> court. He felt stuck, but...he doesn’t know what else to do about it. </p><p>Wymack encourages him to see her and Nathaniel has nothing else to do. The alternative is sitting in the close confines of Wymack’s apartment all day, doing nothing but worrying and waiting. He still does that outside of Wymack’s apartment, but at least his mind is somewhat preoccupied with Exy. He’s at least <em>moving</em>. Not like he would like to be, of course, but…it’s progress. He wants to feel that air of familiarity that sends a rush of calmness throughout his bones. He wants to be able to disconnect his mind from the rest of his body and move on instinct like <em>he knows he can.</em></p><p>So, after he does his hour of watching another episode of whatever show, making and eating breakfast, petting Wookiee, and giving bullshit answers to Betsy’s inquiries, Wymack takes him to the court again. The coach still hasn’t mentioned anything about Nathaniel’s meltdown yesterday. </p><p>The moment they pull up to the stadium, Wymack lets out a curse. Painted alongside the outside wall of the stadium in blood-red letters are the words <em>‘Foxes r fucked 4ever.’</em></p><p>Wymack yanks the truck in park and climbs out, striding closer to the building so he can get a better look. Nathaniel is currently rooted in place in the passenger seat. It could just be some spiteful Ravens fans who are too lazy and dumb to spell things correctly, or…or the message could be purposeful. </p><p>He slowly exits the car himself and walks up to where Wymack is standing, staring up at the huge letters.  Cans of empty spray paint litter the ground underneath the letters. Nathaniel swallows the lump in his throat and says, “Creative.” </p><p>“Shut the fuck up,” Wymack growls. He pulls out his phone from his pocket. “I need to make a few calls. Do <em>not</em> run off.”</p><p>Without another glance, the Foxes coach strides off and almost immediately begins to bark angrily at whoever is on the other side of the line. Nathaniel glances back up at the graffiti. He knows the Foxes have been getting threats and vandalism like this ever since Kevin arrived here from the Nest. It’s almost like Kevin is a bad omen. Though, Nathaniel knows, deep down, that if anyone is the bad omen, it’s not Kevin. </p><p>And Nathaniel has never seen the vandalism before. Maybe…maybe it’s always been like this—lazy, unimaginative, and poorly spelled? But the wordplay—or rather the letter play…it sends Nathaniel on high alert. His mind tells him to runs and his body itches to do so. </p><p>Nathaniel spins on his heel and marches back to the truck. Wymack typically leaves the keyring in the cupholder. The coach stomped off with his car keys—because he doesn’t put it on the keyring for some reason—but Nathaniel thinks he might’ve jumped out of the truck too quickly to snag the key ring. Right as he turns, however, he spots something out of the corner of his eye. One of the empty spraypaint bottles rolls in the wind, creating a rattling down against the uneven pavement. Next to the bottles is something yellow. It’s easy to look over. It’s almost the same color as the ungodly orange or the yellow, fading parking lines throughout the lot. But Nathaniel knows just upon first glance that it’s neither of those things. </p><p>He slowly approaches the yellow object, his legs unsteady and weak underneath him. As he gets closer, he can tell it’s a crumpled envelope. A single black #4 is marked on the outside and that’s when Nathaniel knows that all this is no coincidence. The Moriyamas have had enough and they are calling him home.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello, hello! I'm sorry for the late update! If you follow me on Twitter, you know I've been crazy busy rn with school and I just started a new job. However, this is still my baby and I have a lot planned, so enjoy this chapter! No Andrew--I know--but more drama to come soon ;)</p><p>Because I am so busy right now I don't know exactly when the next chapter will be out--2 weeks max though! But yeah, if you liked this chapter, leave a kudos or a comment. I LOVE reading through all yalls nice comments. It means sm. I'm SO THANKFUL for yall that read and comment and just follow. Happy Thanksgiving lovelies! :) And also feel free to follow me on <a href="https://twitter.com/emptyambrosia">Twitter</a>!!!!!!</p><p>Hope you liked it &amp; thanks for reading!!!</p><p>-orth</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Runaway</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nathaniel snags the envelope up with numb fingers. They’re not shaking—He’s not. Not yet. It hasn’t quite hit him yet, he thinks. Maybe? It’s a ridiculous explanation considering he’s known since he first arrived here in South Carolina that there was no way Ichirou or The Master would let him stay down here. He always knew he would be going back, so why is he so caught up about it? This is how it always ends. Again and again. He’s <em>seventeen</em>. He should understand by now. </p><p>But there’s still that part of him that always dares to rebel—thinks the contrary. It’s dangerous and it’s caused him his fair share of beatings at the Nest, but they’ve never been able to hit or carve it out of him. He knows this quality of his only seems to get him in trouble, but he can’t—<em>won’t</em>—give it up. He refuses to lay down and bare his neck. Nathaniel knows what’s expected of him at the Nest, but he walks a thin line between obedience and brattiness. Some tolerate it more than others, but this envelope is a clear signal that they’re losing patience. </p><p>Nathaniel stares down at the yellow envelope. His fingertips are white as they clutch the thin paper between them. Nothing heavy in it, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He wonders if he should open it now just to get it out of the way. But he doesn’t need to open it to know what it is. </p><p>He whips around when he hears the roar of a car engine. His shoulders relax and he allows himself to take a breath when he realizes it was just a car passing by on the nearby road. Nathaniel can still see Wymack in the distance; he’s pacing back and forth, yelling angrily into the phone. The redhead decides to open up the envelope later and stuffs the paper into the waistband of his too-big pants. He strides back to Wymack’s truck and pops open the passenger side door. Sure enough, the keyring lays in the cupholder in the center console. Nathaniel scoops it up and marches over to the door. But then he realizes he needs the fucking passcode. <em>Shit.</em></p><p>“Kid!” Wymack calls out from across the parking lot. </p><p>Nathaniel spins around, still hating being addressed as such. Wymack still has the phone held up to one of his ears, but he must’ve stopped pacing when he saw Nathaniel at the door. The coach is heading towards Nathaniel and barks some last words into his phone before hanging up. Nathaniel takes a few steps back as Wymack approaches, recognizing the irritation radiating off the man. </p><p>The coach snags the keyring from Nathaniel as the latter holds out and after another moment, the door to the stadium is swinging open. Nathaniel fights the urge to squeeze past Wymack and dash down the hall—he’d be willing to put his speed up against Wymack’s reflexes—but his instincts tell him to stay in the back, behind anyone else so he can see what’s unfolding in front of him. </p><p>When they do get to the lounge, Wymack grumbles something else and flicks his hand vaguely in the air. Nathaniel takes it as some sort of dismissal or a “go on” and darts into the locker room. The door shuts loudly behind him, the sound echoing throughout the room. Nathaniel doesn’t realize how heavily he’s breathing until he’s alone amongst the locker and still air. His fingers clench in the pants material at his waist. He hears the crinkle of paper underneath. He’s alone in this room—Nathaniel carefully strolls around to make sure of that. Cameras? He doesn’t think so, but he still slips into one of the individual shower stalls to ensure complete privacy.</p><p>Nathaniel notices that his fingers are shaking now as he pulls the envelope from his waistband. He squeezes the paper package tighter, willing the trembling to stop. It doesn’t but he acts as if it does. </p><p>“Shit,” he breathes out, tipping his head forward to rest against one of the stall walls. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a shuttering breath. </p><p>
  <em>Just open it. Rip it open. Get it over with. You know what it is.</em>
</p><p>Hope is a dangerous and disquieting thing and it’s then that Nathaniel knows he dared to hope—all the warnings he issued to himself were ignored. He knows he hates the Nest, but what does this say about Palmetto? He’s desperate. Anything is better than the Nest; it’s not difficult to admit that. But…here? </p><p>Before Nathaniel can sink too fully into sorting out his confusing thoughts, he opens his eyes and rips open the envelope. He reaches inside until his fingers brush against a slip of paper. With his head still resting against the wall, he slides the sheet out until it’s fully visible. It doesn’t take him long to identify what it is. He and his mother certainly used a variation of this on the run. </p><p>It is a bus ticket. </p><p>Nathaniel scanned over the information on the slip. The bus stop was close by. He recognizes the name of the town on the ticket. He could run there in probably about thirty minutes or so. The departure time was tomorrow night. </p><p>Tomorrow. That’s all the time he had left. </p><p>There is nothing else in the envelope. No letter or anything, but Nathaniel knows the ticket was warning enough. There was an invisible “or else…” attached to the ticket. </p><p>If he didn’t end up getting off that bus in West Virginia when they expected him to—well, it wouldn’t be good for him. Nothing ever was, but he recognized a test when he saw one. The Moriyamas had the manpower and money to come down and get him themselves. Instead, they decided to keep it quiet and leave it up to Nathaniel to choose his fate. </p><p><em>“Where do your loyalties lie, Nathaniel?”</em> Ichirou always asks him. Every time the Lord thinks he needs to be reminded. This ticket is another reminder. </p><p>
  <em>“With the Moriyamas. With you, my Lord.”</em>
</p><p>Nathaniel shoves the ticket back in the envelope and rips open the stall door. He changes out in a record time, ignoring the colors that feel even heavier and wrong on his skin today. It’s like a cruel joke. However, he fooled himself. He knew he would never get to stay. So, <em>why—why is he so upset?</em></p><p>Why is he still trembling?</p><p>And it’s not just outwardly. His insides are turning over themselves and standing alert. He’s so ruffled and distracted that he nearly bumps right into Wymack as he makes his way out of the locker room. He jerks back just in time, hitting the wall behind him rather roughly. At that moment he’s also especially aware of the folded up envelope and ticket he tucked in the court shoes.</p><p>“Jesus,” Wymack gruffs at Nathaniel’s violent reaction. “Slow down there, hot rod.”</p><p>“It’s Nathaniel,” he snaps back. He feels the heat rising in the room and in his body. “I’ve said this before. If you want to address me, use Nathaniel or nothing at all. I’m not ‘kid’ or ‘hot rod’ or—or ‘Nathan’ or whatever the hell else you all decide to call me.”</p><p>And without sparing another glance at the Foxes coach, Nathaniel pushes past him and beelines for the court. He didn’t even grab a racquet—Wymack was likely coming to him to unlock the equipment closet. Nathaniel didn’t need one. He wasn’t going to set foot on the court, especially not now. He takes to running laps again. This time he pushes himself even harder and goes faster. </p><p>He runs and runs and runs. </p><p> Meanwhile, his brain just keeps turning over the realization that his time is up; he’s being called back to the Nest, back to Riko and the Master and <em>his father</em>. Sasha. But also back to <em>Jean</em>. The tip of the court shoes Nathaniel’s wearing catches on the flooring, causing him to stumble forward. He catches himself against the court wall before he falls. His mind is foggy and limbs uncharacteristically sluggish. </p><p><em>Jean</em>. Oh god, <em>Jean</em>. How could he leave him behind? </p><p>
  <em>You have to go back. You deserve being back there.</em>
</p><p>On the drive back to Wymack’s apartment, the interior of the truck is quiet. The coach didn’t even turn on the radio. Nathaniel stays pressed against the window, gazing at the outside scenery. He mentally catalogs the street names, trying to paint a route for him to take tomorrow to get to the bus stop. </p><p>The walk up to the apartment is silent, too. Wymack is still letting Nathaniel sleep in his room, but the older man still <em>lives</em> out of the room, so Nathaniel typically steers clear until it’s time to sleep—not that his sleep schedule is the best. It’s still out of wack due to the Nest, but he assumes everything will be falling back into place soon. Even when he is able to get some shut-eye, it’s not the best. He still jerks away, expecting Ravens or Moriyamas or his father or Sasha to be there, grabbing him and dragging him back. Lucky for him, he’s accustomed to operating from day to day with little sleep. </p><p>Wymack gives him some space. Part of Nathaniel is grateful for that. The other half of him is on edge because he doesn’t know if Wymack is angry with him, and even more, what he’ll do if he’s angry. Wymack hasn’t laid a hand on him with ill intent while Nathaniel’s been here, but…the redhead still waits for something that could happen. </p><p>The Foxes coach still makes extra dinner for him, though. And by ‘make’ Nathaniel means he heats up pre-cooked meat and brings out the condiments. He leaves some food sitting in the microwave for Nathaniel to grab. Sometimes he eats it. Sometimes he makes something else. Wymack doesn’t comment on which option he chooses.</p><p>“I’ll only call you Nathaniel from now on,” Wymack says after he’s announced dinner is ready.”</p><p>The redhead is currently sitting on the couch, his knees huddled against his chest. He nods, picking at the fraying end of the borrowed jeans he’s wearing. </p><p>“Good. But—“ Nathaniel licks his lips, trying to find the right words. His stomach clenches painfully. “I didn’t—the snapping at you…”</p><p>Nathaniel curls his fingers in the denim fabric, twisting it over and under and between. He meant what he said in the locker room. It’s Nathaniel. <em>Only</em> Nathaniel. But Wymack didn’t deserve Nathaniel’s outburst. Not really. His intentions—they were good. He’s…helped. But it doesn’t really matter now, does it? He’s going back tomorrow. </p><p>“It’s fine,” Wymack says, cutting him off. He lifts his plate and gives Nathaniel a pointed look. “I’m heading into the office to do some work.”</p><p>The words <em>‘don’t run off’</em> are tacked onto the end of the message. Nathaniel blinks back. Tonight’s not the night.</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Wymack pauses before disappearing down the hall. “Abby is hosting dinner tomorrow. Kevin and the others are going to be there. So is Betsy.”</p><p>Wymack leaves the sentence hanging. The coach never said <em>they</em> were going. He’s leaving it up to Nathaniel. Every time the redhead is in a room with Kevin, nothing ends up going well, but maybe this could give him a good cover-up to sneaking out. It’s better than sitting alone with the Foxes coach in Wymack’s place. At least at Abby’s he could form a possible diversion. People would be preoccupied. </p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Wymack nods and pauses once more. “Nathaniel, I know you think me sending you to Betsy is bullshit. That’s fine. Not everyone likes going. But we are on your side.”</p><p>
  <em>You don’t even know "my side.” Which side do you mean?</em>
</p><p>Nathaniel's upper lip twitches in annoyance, but he just wants to get Wymack out of the room. “Okay. I get it. Things are fine.”</p><p>
  <em>As fine as it can be.</em>
</p><p>*****</p><p>When they pull in to Abby’s driveway for dinner, three other cars already sit there, indicating that they’re the last to arrive. Nathaniel never took Wymack for someone who took a while to get ready, but he does have a hunch that the coach has something going on with Abby. Nathaniel can appreciate the romantic gesture of trying to look good to impress someone you like—not that he’s ever felt the desire to do that before. </p><p>Wymack climbs out of the car and Nathaniel meets him on the other side. </p><p>“We talked with the others about them behaving themselves,” Wymack says, and then gives him a firm look. “But you need to play nice too.”</p><p>“I always play nice,” Nathaniel responds sweetly. Wymack gives him a look but doesn’t say anything more. He just grumbles and heads toward the front door. Andrew opens up the door when they hit the doorbell. </p><p>“Coach,” the blond greets as he leans against the door frame. His eyes are dancing, so Nathaniel knows he’s high. Andrew’s eyes slowly move over to rake over Nathaniel’s form. “I see you still have the stray.”</p><p>Nathaniel meets Andrew’s gaze evenly and the blond grins at whatever he sees in Nathaniel’s eyes. He steps back from the frame, waving his arm out to invite them in. Wymack goes in first when Nathaniel stays rooted on the doorstep. Nathaniel’s skin tingles unpleasantly as he passes by Andrew. He’s close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from the goalkeeper’s skin. </p><p>“Tick tock. Keep your eyes on the clock, little birdie,” Andrew sings quietly as Nathaniel passes by. </p><p>Nathaniel knows opening his mouth and firing off a retort is a bad idea. Doing so typically is in any situation he’s involved in. Andrew is also known for being rather volatile. Nathaniel knows the blond carries knives on him, but it doesn’t worry Nathaniel as much as it should perhaps. With a full house, the redhead doubts Andrew can do much damage before one of the adults step in. Plus, he’ll likely never see Andrew Minyard in person after this night, so might as well go off with a bang, right?</p><p>Nathaniel stops right in next to Andrew and turns so he’s facing him. “Do you feel threatened by me or something? Every time we bump into one another, you always telling me I’d better leave. What happens if I don’t.”</p><p>A Cheshire smile slides across Andrew’s face slowly, like a zipper being pulled. “Threatened by you? Pffftt. When you first showed up here you could barely stand on your own two feet. Even now after you’ve recovered—” his eyes trail down Nathaniel’s form again and the envelope feels especially heavy in the borrowed shoes. “—<em>mostly</em> recovered, I’m not quaking in my boots. And I warned you last time what would happen if you didn’t fly back to the Nest. If you’re that eager to find out, we could step out right now. I’m sure I could get the point across before Wymack or Abby notice we’re missing.”</p><p>“As tempting as that sounds,” Nathaniel hums. “I have no desire to be alone with you. Ever. Sorry to disappoint.”</p><p>“Oh,” Andrew laughs. “No, no, not disappointing.”</p><p>“But not entertaining either?”</p><p>“I find many things entertaining,” Andrews says airily. He leans in a bit closer and whispers, “It’s the drugs that make me this way, believe it or not.”</p><p>“I can imagine,” Nathaniel quips back dryly. </p><p>Andrew cocks his head. He’s still holding the door open, letting the breeze draft into the house. “Think about me a lot, Nate?”</p><p>“Not if I can help it. But I do have this thing called self-preservation, so when blond psychopaths threaten me every time I come around, that does tend to be a thought that sticks with me.”</p><p>“Really now? Only blond psychopaths? Something’s telling me you should amend that statement, especially considering how you first arrived here. Also, it sounds like that problem could be solved if you just stop coming around.”</p><p>
  <em>Yeah, well, you’re about to get your wish.</em>
</p><p>“Andrew, Nathaniel!” Wymack hollers from the kitchen. “Get in here and if either of you two is bleeding, your both cleaning up this entire mess once we finish eating!”</p><p>Andrew shrugs and strolls off to the kitchen. Nathaniel follows and hears Abby sigh, “Really, David?” whenever they enter the room. </p><p>Wymack is situated against the kitchen island. Betsy, Nicky, and Abby are working on preparing the food. Aaron is setting the table. Kevin is nowhere to be seen. Nathaniel is about to comment something about how Andrew is missing his charge, but Abby greets him first. </p><p>“Nathaniel! How are you? Anything irritating you?” She asks quickly, a smile across her face. Her blonde hair is falling out slightly from the clip she used to hold it back.</p><p>His knee is still bothering him slightly, but he’s not going to admit that in front of everyone. “No, I’m good.”</p><p>“Great! We’re making homemade pasta. Have you ever made homemade pasta before?”</p><p>Nathaniel shakes his head. He’s hasn’t had pasta a lot. Never at the Nest but a few times on the run when he and his mother were in Europe. In some places, the pasta was pretty cheap and filling. The next thing he knows he’s being ushered over to the counter by Betsy and Abby. The granite counter is coated in flour and there’s a pile of dough throughout and two types of filing. One looks meat-based while the other is cheese-based. The two women show him how to cut out the pasta shape, fill them—<em>“not a lot of filling. You don’t actually need as much as you think”</em>—and how to fold the dough until it makes a perfect little pillow shape. </p><p>Nathaniel takes a spot in their little production line between Betsy and Nicky. The cousin flashes Nathaniel a tentative smile when the redhead first joins them, but he’s soon chatting away and showing Nathaniel how to pinch the edges of the pasta together. Nathaniel didn’t really see what the big deal was. Why did it matter how you folded pasta? Whatever way works as long as the filling staying inside, right?</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Nicky says, completely aghast. “It’s so much tastier if it looks visually appealing.”</p><p>Nathaniel’s brows furrow. He doesn’t think how you fold the pasta has any impact on how it tastes, but he doesn’t comment on it. He knows he’s slowing down the line, so he does a few more before excusing himself and letting the others finish crafting the pasta. Kevin’s in the room now. He has a bandage over his cheek, right where Nathaniel scratched him. It’s in the exact same spot at Nathaniel’s own bandage. The corner of the redhead’s lip quirks up. </p><p>Kevin is talking to Wymack, but when Nathaniel steps away from the assembly line, the striker’s eyes flit over to the redhead. Nathaniel looks away immediately and catches Andrew’s eye. The blond is sitting at the dining table next to his twin and watching him intently. Nathaniel settles for leaning back against the counter near the fridge. He can see everyone, but he’s out of everyone’s way too.</p><p>Dinner is prepared rather quickly. It turns out pasta doesn’t take too long to cook. Abby and Betsy also place a plate full of breadsticks and a salad bowl on the table. Kevin reaches for the salad as soon as it’s set down. Nathaniel watches the striker serve himself a rather generous serving. Since their initial eye contact, Kevin hasn’t glanced at Nathaniel all night. Andrew, on the other hand, hasn’t taken his eye off of Nathaniel all night. </p><p>Even after everyone finishes eating, they stay at the dinner table and continue their conversation. Nathaniel stays there too, picking through the small portion of salad he plopped on his plate earlier. He received many looks—some annoyed and some concerned—at his lack of appetite, but no one says anything about it. Looks like some people are learning. He <em>did</em> try the homemade paste, however. Just a piece upon Nicky and Abby’s request. </p><p>As the sun begins to set, the party moves into the living room. Nathaniel feels some of the tension that’s accumulated in his muscles evaporate as a few of the others leave the kitchen and trail into the living room. The sound of the TV soon fills the space. Abby and Betsy stay behind to clean up the mess in the kitchen, muttering under their breath about forgetful boys. </p><p>Nathaniel stands up from the table, his plate clasped so tightly in his hands that he’s surprised it doesn’t crack. He glances at the clock. 8:37 pm. It should take him about 30 or so minutes to run to the bus stop downtown. It will also take him a while to think of a legitimate excuse and sneak away from Abby’s. The ticket in his shoe causes his foot to itch. </p><p>“I can help,” Nathaniel murmurs to Abby and Betsy. He begins to stack the plates left on the table on top of one another. He does so carefully and meticulously, his mind racing and fingers a bit unsteady. </p><p>“Thank you,” Abby huffs out, flashing him a smile. She takes the stack of plates from him and places them in the kitchen sink. Betsy turns on the sink and grabs a sponge from the cabinet underneath. Nathaniel finishes collecting the dishes and silverware from the table and places it on the counter. Save for one kitchen knife that he stores away in the waistband on his pants.</p><p>“What do you want me to do with the leftovers?”</p><p>“Oh, just place those on the counter too,” Abby tells him as she dries off some of the dishes Betsy hands her. “I’ll pack those up and put those in the fridge in a bit.”</p><p>Nathaniel does that and then wanders off to the other room when Abby thanks him and shoos him away. Kevin and Wymack are talking about something on the TV and Nicky is chatting away Aaron’s ear, so Nathaniel takes the opportunity to go upstairs to the bathroom. Wymack notices him ascent the stairs. The room is too open and bright for them to <em>not</em> notice him, so Nathaniel will just have to take this route. </p><p>Once on the second floor, he carefully scouts out the area. Andrew wasn’t downstairs earlier. Nathaniel has no idea where he is, but he’s not going to let that stop him from sneaking out. He doesn’t have any other option. If he doesn’t leave soon, he’ll miss that bus and face all the consequences that come with that. </p><p>He slides into the room he stayed in while he was here and throws open the closet door. He snags the first jacket he sees, more for coverage than warmth. At the bottom of the closet is a small drawstring sack. He grabs that too and stuffs it with a pair of shorts and a t-shirt he finds, just to add some bulk. While Nathaniel knows most people mind their own business on these buses—they’re just trying to get from one place to another—he also knows that travelers without any belongings with them do stand out. And he doesn’t want to stand out. </p><p>As he turns around to face the window he surveyed when he first woke up here, he sees a picture frame on the nightstand. He recognizes Nicky—he assumes this is Nicky’s room them—and next to the Backliner is a larger blond man who has his arm slung over Nicky’s shoulders. They’re both beaming at the camera. </p><p>Nathaniel looks away and heads towards the window. “Sorry Nicky,” he mutters. He does feel bad about stealing his clothes. But from what he saw in the closet, Nicky does not have a shortage of options. In the few days Nathaniel spent around the Foxes player, he was nice enough. Nathaniel’s sure he wouldn’t mind him <em>borrowing</em> his clothes…</p><p>He pushes the bottom portion of the window open. The warm Carolina breeze flows in the room and blows his curls back from his forehead. He sticks his head out the window and looks down and around. He pulls his head back inside and situates the drawstring sack on his back before swinging his whole body outside of the window. His hands grip the window sill as he carefully lowers himself to sit on it. His legs dangle down; he sees the flower bed beneath his feet. </p><p>This was a jump he wasn’t willing to risk about a week ago. He’s still healing, but part of that running at the court was also to test his current physical ability. He’s always been a fast healer, which is both a blessing and a curse. </p><p>Nathaniel sucks in another deep breath and relaxes his body. He’s had his fair share of jumps from an intimidating height before. After another breath, he grips the sill firmly again and slowly turns and lowers himself until he’s dangling down. His fingers and shoulders scream in protest, but he blocks it off and tries to keep his body loose. He looks down as best he can and spots the strip of soft dirt visible between his body and the side of the house. </p><p>And then he drops. </p><p>He keeps his body lax and lands evenly on both feet. Following the natural give of his body due to the impact, he crouches low and branches himself with his hands. Pins and needles race through his legs, causing him to wince slightly. After a moment, he cautiously pushes himself back up so that he’s standing. His knee aches a bit, but other than that he feels fine. </p><p>He pulls off his shoe with the ticket and stuffs the paper in the jacket pocket just to make sure it doesn’t get damaged while he’s running. Without waiting around for the others to find out he’s left, Nathaniel immediately starts moving. He knows the way back to Wymack’s apartment on foot, and from there he knows how to get to the bus stop. </p><p>However, as soon as he turns the corner, something hard and fast hits him in his stomach. His breath is knocked out of him and he chokes on nothing. The hit stopped his momentum abruptly, causing him to collapse against the ground. He presses one of his hands against his bruised and aching side, using his other hand to hold him up off the ground. He coughs wildly, trying to regain his breath and get some oxygen into his lungs. </p><p>“Well, well, well. Looks who’s sneaking off in the black of night,” Andrew sings from above him. </p><p>Nathaniel grits his teeth, still trying to catch his breath. He gently probs his side with careful fingers and hisses when a sharp ache goes through his side. He presses firm. Bruised most likely but nothing serious. Miraculously, he doesn’t feel anything bleeding, meaning Andrew didn’t bust open any stitches. </p><p>Nathaniel whips his head up so he can stare at the blond, mouth opened in a snarl. “What’s your fucking problem, you asshole?”</p><p>Andrew takes a slow drag of the lit cigarette he holds between his finger. As he speaks, the smoke floats out and is carried away by the gentle breeze. “You. Running comes easy for you, doesn’t it?”</p><p>Nathaniel ignores that last part and spits out, “I’m leaving! That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? If you don’t let me go now, the others will notice I’m missing and come find me.”</p><p>Andrew gives him a considerable glance and then takes another drag of the cigarette. “What makes you think you’ll be able to get away <em>now</em>? Wymack and Abby seem to have taken to you quite quickly. Betsy too.”</p><p>“I just know,” Nathaniel snaps back through a clenched jaw. He cradles his side as he pushes himself to his feet. His hand slips down to the waistband on his jeans where he stored the kitchen knife. He’ll use it if he has to. He’s certain he could fare against Andrew’s sharper knives due to his experience. His eyes lock onto Andrew’s, which glow gold under the light cast by the nearby street lamp. “If I get stuck here, it’s not going to be good news for any of you, and you know that.”</p><p>Andrew looks at him again and says, “That’s Nicky’s favorite jacket.”</p><p>“I’m sure he’ll get over it,” Nathaniel snarls. </p><p>Andrew shrugs, takes another drag, and then steps to the side, clearly dismissing the redhead. Nathaniel blinks, but then he rights himself and begins to push forward. </p><p>“Don’t come back,” Andrew sings as Nathaniel jogs past him. </p><p>
  <em>Not planning on it.</em>
</p><p>*****</p><p>Nathaniel gets to the bus stop without getting caught, which he counts as a win. He doesn’t know the exact time, but he knows he made good time while running here. The bus hasn’t pulled up to the stop yet, but by his guess, it would be arriving soon. Wymack and the others might know he’s gone by now, but they won’t be able to cover all the ground he could’ve traveled before the bus arrives. They’ll be too late. </p><p>He slows his pace until he’s simply strolling down the sidewalk. The pain in his side that he’s been ignoring until now flares into life and he instinctively brings a hand up to cradle it. Each step causes his ribs and knew to tweak uncomfortably, so he settles for leaning up against a nearby shop until the bus pulls up. He reaches in the jacket pocket and pulls out the bus ticket, checks the location, time, and bus number. Once he quadruple checked, he stuffs the ticket back into the pocket and anxiously waits. He leans further back as if the buildings can completely wrap around him and erase him from sight. </p><p>After some unknown amount of time, a bus finally does pull up. Nathaniel checks the number on the rear of the bus with the one on his ticket before pushing off against the wall and heading for the entrance. It’s nearly 9:30 at night, so not many people are getting on a bus. Two others get on with him though. Nathaniel hands the driver his ticket—not thinking about what else he’s handing over—and takes a seat near the front of the bus. He and his mother would tend to sit in the front since most others immediately file to the back. Plus, it was close to the exit. They just kept their hoods up and heads low in order to not attract any attention—which is what Nathaniel does as soon as he sits down. He flips up the hood to Nicky’s jacket and leans his head against the window. He holds his breath until the driver closes the doors and the bus chugs forward. </p><p>He’s leaving. He really is. His heart is beating a mile a minute in his chest and he’s sweltering suddenly under this jacket. Nathaniel doesn’t show any outward panic. He swallows the lump in his throat, counts to 10 in all the languages that he knows, and thinks about Jean. </p><p>After a few hours, he’s run out of things to say in the languages he knows. So, he starts reading every sign he sees. Sometimes he translates them into the different languages he knows. Says the colors. He does anything to keep his mind away from thinking about what will happen once he steps foot off this bus in West Virginia. Each time they pass a sign that announces they’re entering into another state, the metaphoric cage around his heart shrinks in size until he feels as if he’s practically suffocating. </p><p>Eventually, he ends up dosing off. He doesn’t know for how long. It couldn’t have been very long, though. No matter how exhausted he is, his body and brain wouldn’t allow it. He jerks away as soon as the bus stops and the doors slide open. They’re still in Virginia. That much he can tell from what he’s seen and the current surroundings. That means he’s a few hours away from the Nest at most. </p><p>Nathaniel sinks down lower in his seat and turns his face more into the fabric of the jacket, trying to avoid letting others know he’s having an internal panic attack. A sudden pressure next to him causes him to peek from around the corner of his hood. Someone sat next to him. </p><p>Okay. That’s fine. The bus has filled up over the past few hours and numerous stops. Who knew traveling overnight on a bus going up the East Coast during the beginning of summer would be so popular? </p><p>Nathaniel turns back towards the window, trying to force himself to relax—or at least give the appearance of someone who’s relaxed. He’s good at acting—or maybe not good, per se but he’s had a lot of experience with it. He can just pretend like it’s his mom sitting next to him. </p><p>He continues counting and reading and translating and describing the signs he sees for the next hour or so. They pause at two more stops along the way and each time the bus slows to a halt, Nathaniel is jerking his head up to look at the name of the stop. His heart contracts and then nearly explodes each time he sees it's not his final destination. </p><p>The press of something firm and familiar against his side cause him to stop cold. He’s still turned towards the window, gazing out at the busy street now that it’s about midday, but his eyes aren’t actually looking at anything. All he can focus on is the memorable sensation of a knife pressed up against him.</p><p>“Get off in three stops. It’s the first station past the West Virginia border. There’s someone there who wants to talk to you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>GASP! It's me. Updating so soon. I literally spit out most of this today. Should I have been studying instead? Probably. BUT HERE THIS IS!! Now I can say with 100% certainly that this is the last chapter yall are gonna get before finals. I will probs post the next one during the second week in December, but yes! I hope yall enjoy.</p><p>Um, I don't know much about how buses work, so please don't bash me haha. But if you liked it, feel free to comment, leave a kudos, bookmark, etc. I LOVE interacting with yall. You light up my day. </p><p>Also, I love hearing yalls' theories, so feel free to leave those down below as well ;)</p><p>Feel free to follow me on <a href="https://twitter.com/emptyambrosia">Twitter</a>!! Thanks for reading!</p><p>- orth</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. They Don't Have To Be Afraid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just some WARNINGS before getting into this! There are some self-deprecating/suicidal thoughts mentioned!! Also crass language, nonconsensual drug-use and the usual pain and such. A lot of info is dumped in this chapter. It's full of the feels, but healing is on the horizon!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nathaniel stays frozen in his seat. Even through the two layers of clothing he is wearing, he can feel the cool kiss of steel seeping through the fabric and soaking into his skin—a lethal reminder of where he stands, who he is, his situation. There is no escaping it. He knows that, but the constant reminders are cruel. Although, he should expect that, as well—the constant reminders. They keep him on his toes, constantly worrying and working. That is the game they like to play with Nathaniel as the pawn. </p><p>The question now is who is the one calling the moves this time. Who is waiting for him in West Virginia?</p><p>The list of individuals who wouldn’t blink at causing him harm—of those who <em>want</em> to cause him harm—is never-ending and concerning, to say the least. It could be The Master waiting for him—although he thinks that’s unlikely, considering The Master is the one who sent him the bus ticket back to The Nest. He’s confident The Master was behind that. So, intercepting Nathaniel hours away wouldn’t make sense…unless something happened that threw a wrench in his plans…</p><p>Nathaniel’s fingers twist in the fabric of his pants. The knife is pressed more firmly against his side and Nathaniel steels his jaw, pressing his temples harder against the window until his head aches. </p><p>Riko wasn’t there. No…probably not him…It could be Ichirou, though. Kengo? Nathaniel has seen Kengo only a handful of times in his life. The older Moriyama typically didn’t come South to the Nest, but if he was waiting for Nathaniel in West Virginia…well, that certainly is not good. He doesn’t know if it would be worse for him to face Kengo or his own father. Although, facing his father was a more probable—or one of his father’s people. Lola would volunteer, of course. She always liked being the one to drag him back. </p><p>A sick feeling begins to stir in his stomach and his throat is too tight. Nathaniel can already feel his father’s hands wrapped around his throat, dragging him down the stairs. He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on keeping his breathing even, calming the quest feeling developing in the pit of his stomach. He hears the soft voices all around him, the sound of the engine, people rustling through their things. How can things be <em>so normal</em> for others when his life is anything but. He shares the same space, walks by these people, but the reality he’s a part of is so different and deadly. <em>It’s not fair</em>. </p><p>He still has the table knife he took from Abby’s in the waistband on his pants. It falters in comparison to the knife being pressed up against him. Although, Nathaniel’s certain <em>he’s</em> the better knife-wielder between the two, so he could make this more dull knife just as dangerous. However, he is still in public. He would have to wait until they stop next before fighting and making a run for it. And then what? There’s no defying those who call for him—whoever that is—not if he wants to live. He’s going to have to face this one way or another; it would be smarter to be cooperative (to some extent) and do it now. </p><p>Nathaniel keeps his eyes shut and curls in on himself, getting lost in his own self and trying—<em>trying</em>—to right himself. So, he doesn’t notice the <em>‘Welcome to West Virginia’</em> sign when they cross the state border. The man sitting next to him presses the knife harder against the skin of his side until Nathaniel feels a wetness seep into his shirt. He jerks away from the blade, his eyes snapping open and a wet gasp escaping his mouth. </p><p>“Pay attention. You get off at the next spot,” the man says, his voice low and calm, despite the knife he’s holding up against Nathaniel’s freaking kidney. </p><p>The next stop arrives quickly. Nathaniel’s heart sinks to the pit of his stomach when the bus screeches to a halt. The man sitting next to him, swings his legs over into the aisle, leaving space for Nathaniel to skirt around him and exit the bus. The knife stays steady against his side until he lets out a trembling breath and moves from his seat. </p><p>He’s the only one that gets off at this stop. As soon as he steps foot on the sidewalk, he looks around at his surroundings. The bus pulls away with another high-pitch screech. Nathaniel turns around to see the man who has now taken his spot wave at him from the window before the bus disappears from sight. </p><p>Now what? </p><p>Nathaniel hefts the near-empty duffel bag up higher on his back and begins to track down the sidewalk. The too-large slides he’s wearing flap loudly against the concrete. Hardly anyone is out and about since it’s still morning. From the looks of the town, it appears rather small and quaint. He turns the corner and stops when he spots a sign in the window of what looks to be an old antique shop. It says <em>‘Princeton is the Heart of Mercer County.’</em></p><p>Well, he supposes that answers his question, doesn’t it? </p><p>He’s heard of this town before—nothing more than a name, though. It is small and distant from The Nest. Unimportant, which is likely why they had him stop here—whoever “they” is.</p><p>A force against his shoulder causes him to stumble forward. When he catches himself, he turns around—shoulders tensing in preparation for a fight—but the guy who bumped into him just continues to walk. He doesn’t even acknowledge Nathaniel, doesn’t even turn to apologize—and that’s when Nathaniel knows it wasn’t an accident. </p><p>He swallows down the doubt and the fear and forces his left foot forward, then his right. He follows the guy down the block, around the corner, and slips into the alleyway after the man. The alleyway is tight and wet and dark, despite it being morning. He loses track of the guy at some point but just continues to follow the narrow twists and turns. Every time his foot hits the weathered pavement, every corner he turns, the air pump in his gut keeps inflating that balloon of anxiety inside of him—one pump, one step, at a time. It keeps expanding and pushing everything else out of that way until Nathaniel feels like he’s about to burst from the seams. His lungs are trying to crawl their way into his throat and—ironically—only aid in further suffocating him. The ballooned is petrifying, making each of his movements stiff and heavy. He feels as if he’s on the verge of crumbling. That would be easier, he supposes, than facing whoever stands at the end of this maze. </p><p>A sleek black car sits just outside the end of the alleyway because of course. The windows are tinted, so he can’t make out who’s inside. </p><p><em>No matter what the answer is</em>, he tries to reason with himself, <em>it’s not going to be good. Get it over with.</em> </p><p>He presses forward and opens the car door. He slides into the smooth leather seats without looking at who else is in the car. It could be Ichirou. His father. One of his father’s goons. Sasha. Anyone else is unlikely, but then again, maybe one of the others <em>would</em> do exactly this to throw him off guard. </p><p>“Nathaniel.”</p><p>The little oxygen left in his lungs escapes in one quick exhale. He hasn’t quite decided yet if it’s from relief or alarm as he raises his gaze to stare at the man across from him. Ichirou Moriyama looks as cool and collected as ever in his pressed suit and styled hair. The only thing out of place is the yellow bruise on his cheekbone. Nathaniel does his best to hold back his shock. He’s never seen Ichirou with a mark on him before. Striking the Moriyama heir…whoever did that is likely six feet under by now. Nathaniel quickly adverts his eyes before Ichirou realizes what he’s staring at. </p><p>“Lord Ichirou,” he breathes back in greeting. He tucks his hands under his thighs. </p><p>“How was your little trip?”</p><p>Nathaniel licks his lips and chooses his words carefully—or rather, he opts for saying as little as possible. “Fine.”</p><p>Ichirou hums and wraps his hand around a glass of alcohol to his side. Nathaniel’s gaze follows his movement. There are two glasses, and Nathaniel knows the other one is for him. Both glasses were already sitting there, ready to go before he got into the car. He didn’t see them prepared, which is…Nathaniel gulps and drags his eyes back to Ichirou, who is still looking at him. The older Moriyama holds out the glass for Nathaniel to grab and reaches to take hold of the other one. </p><p>“It’s 5 o’clock somewhere.” </p><p>Nathaniel doesn’t laugh, and Ichirou doesn’t expect him to. He just cradles his own glass of alcohol and waits for Nathaniel to take a drink. The redhead’s battered fingers tighten around the cool glass as he tries to push down the nauseating feeling in his stomach. He’s worried if he took a drink now, he’d just throw it back up. And he knows how furious Ichirou would be then. The Moriyama has always been rather proficient at masking his emotions, but Nathaniel knows Ichirou is upset with him. He has to be.</p><p>“Nathaniel,” Ichirou says again, his voice louder and harsher, causes Nathaniel to jerk his gaze back to Ichirou’s. “You’re not going to accept my drink?”</p><p>He recognizes the command. It was worded differently than Riko’s. The younger Moriyama would simply just command Nathaniel to drink. Ichirou isn’t quite as direct, but the consequences for denying him are the same, if not worse. Nathaniel's fingers twitch before he throws back the glass and chugs the liquid down all in one go. There wasn’t a lot in the glass, so his actions weren’t necessarily <em>inappropriate</em>. Ichirou sips at his alcohol, like always.</p><p>“I see you’ve maintained your fire,” Ichirou muses. “Good.”</p><p>Nathaniel winces at the sting as the alcohol slides down his throat and settles in his stomach. <em>Good? What does that mean?</em></p><p>Ichirou continues to stare at him and Nathaniel knows he doesn’t have much time until the alcohol and…well, until it kicks in, so he begins to talk while he can still control what’s coming out of his mouth. </p><p>“I didn’t run,” he says first. He needs to clear that up. “I <em>didn’t</em>—“</p><p>“I know,” Ichirou says softly, sipping at his drink once again. </p><p>Nathaniel blinks, momentarily drawn up short. Ichirou continues. </p><p>“My uncle told me you had run, but I knew he was lying. I knew you wouldn’t run because you’re not that stupid.”</p><p>His words slice through the silent and still air of the car. Ichirou cocks his head to the side, regarding Nathaniel. </p><p>“Was I wrong, Nathaniel?”</p><p>Nathaniel shakes his head, which leaves his brain whirling. Oh yeah, <em>something’s</em> kicking in. </p><p>“You’ve learned your lesson. You know your place, don’t you?”</p><p>Nathaniel’s words and self are hollow. “Yes, sir.”</p><p>Ichirou scoots over, just an inch or so, and pats the leather seat next to him. “Come over here.”</p><p>Whatever warmth sat in Nathaniel’s bones from the summer air disappears then. The glass feels ten times heavier in his hand and his legs are numb. Nathaniel opens his mouth to say something, but he comes up empty and doesn’t think that could be any more accurate. He pushes himself up off the seat and goes to maneuver himself to sit next to Ichirou. His legs collapse from under him, loose and unfeeling, like jello. The empty glass tumbles to the floor of the car and Nathaniel slumps against the seat next to the Moriyama. </p><p>He blinks. It’s slower than normal. As he tries to move his body into a more comfortable position in the seat, but his limbs are heavier and uncoordinated. They feel as if they’re attached to his body by a small string he can’t seem to grasp. He grits his teeth and pulls until he’s sitting straight. Ichirou watches the whole struggle with a flat look. </p><p>Nathaniel lets out a feeble breath as the familiar feeling of weighted helpless washes over him. It builds and builds until he’s left as a puppet filled with stuffing. It fills his brain, his mouth, his ears. It’s a heavy sort of weightlessness that’s just out of his grasp. Though, the general laxness he feels in his limbs could be the reason his mouth is so loose, as well. Because the next words that leave his lips aren’t something he would say to Ichirou Moriyama when he’s in the right state of mind. But right not his brain is overflowing with fluff and pointless things, pushing all the important details out, out of his head and out of his mouth. He’s <em>angry</em>. He has a right to be angry. </p><p>“If you trust me to know my place, then why drug me?”</p><p>“Oh, Nathaniel,” Ichirou hums. His hand comes up to dig harshly into the redhead’s jaw as he studies him. Even now, with whatever’s in his system in full effect, he can see the fire burning in Ichirou’s eyes. “I never said I <em>trusted</em> you. I would be foolish to. You’re a <em>Wesninski</em>.”</p><p>Ichirou shoves his face away. Due to the lack of coordination sinking into Nathaniel’s bones, he’s not able to fight against the momentum and slacks back against the car window. </p><p>“You’ve been gone for a bit, so I’ll do you a service by catching you up on what’s happened over the past few days. Although, I am unsure of how much you already know. I intend to find that out today, though.”</p><p>Ichirou drains the rest of his glass in one gulp. Nathaniel continues to blink at him from his uncomfortable position against the door. </p><p>“My uncle told me you fled the Nest eight days ago—the same night my father and I were attacked up in New York City.”</p><p>Nathaniel perks up at that, but Ichirou doesn’t slow down. He does watch Nathaniel with careful eyes, however. </p><p>“We were having an unofficial business meeting with the Ostrovskys. It was very private and kept under the wraps. No one knew about the meeting except for those who were attending. You’re father and his people were there, as well, running clean-up.”</p><p>An involuntary shiver runs through Nathaniel’s body at the words. He knows what “clean-up” meant. He’s witnessed it before. He and Kevin and Riko. He’s seen it more than just once, though. </p><p>“We were attacked,” Ichirou says slowly. His eyes flit across Nathaniel’s face, gauging and looking for something. “By the Hatfords.”</p><p>Nathaniel draws in a sharp breath as his heart rate skyrockets. Ichirou latches on to that reaction. The redhead tries to push it all back, but his brain is full. He’s sure all his emotions are displayed across his face like an ongoing film reel. </p><p>“Which is odd,” Ichirou continues just as slow. His eyes pin Nathaniel against the window. “Considering there were three parties that knew about our meeting—the Moriyamas, the Ostovskys, and your father. And then, of course, the Hatfords found out somehow. And guess who the common denominator between all four is?”</p><p>The redhead is already shaking his head before Ichirou can finish the last sentence. “No,” he insists. He hasn’t ever even been in contact with his mother’s side of the family “I didn’t—I wasn’t involved—“</p><p>“Shut up and let me finish speaking,” Ichirou snaps, and the words rebound inside of Nathaniel’s brain. The fluff begins to melt until it turns into putty. It sloshes around uncomfortable until Nathaniel thinks that he might actually be sick all over the interior of this expensive car.</p><p>“The altercation was messy but planned. My father was injured and is currently in the hospital. Some others were injured, as well. There was no keeping the spectacle under wraps. Your father and some of his people apprehended by the police. His trial was two days ago. He was sentenced to twenty years in prison with what the prosecutors could pin on him.”</p><p>Nathaniel stops breathing entirely. His father is being locked up. For twenty years. <em>Twenty years</em>. Even the Moriyamas couldn’t keep him out. He was gone, unreachable. Nathaniel doesn’t realize he’s smiling or that there are tears in his eyes until Ichirou’s hand is wrapping around his throat and shoving his even further back against the door. His head digs uncomfortably into the door frame. His body is too uncoordinated and heavy to fight back properly, so he’s left to minutely struggling and squirm and panic as Ichirou squeezes the air and the truths from his body. </p><p>Nathaniel brings his hands up to grab Ichirou’s, more out of shock and instinct than anything. He still has enough sense to not claw or lash out at the Moriyama Lord-to-be. Even so, Nathaniel’s pawing is pathetic with his current strength and Ichirou easily bats his hands away. </p><p>“You think of us as idiots to be made a mockery of?” He nearly snarls. “Your mother’s family coming in to play savior and knock us and your father out so you can be free—was that your brilliant plan?”</p><p>“No—no—,” Nathaniels gasps out with the limited oxygen he has left. Ichirou must be squeezing the putty out of the redhead’s body. It’s probably oozing all over the Moriyama’s hands. Nathaniel is lost. </p><p>“No?”</p><p>“I never talked with—” He tries to shake his head. “No Hatfords on the run—ever.”</p><p>His mother never gave him the Hatford’s contact information. She never really talked about her side of the family to him either. He knew his mother came from a mob family in England. His father sometimes spat out some nasty stuff about it, but that was about the extent to which he knew about the Hatfords. His mother kept their numbers in her head—never written down. Or if it was, she never told him where. All of their information was destroyed in the car fire all those years ago when Lola and Romero dragged him back. Nathaniel’s mother never had any intention of having him contact the Hatfords. If they needed to, she would do it. And if his mother wasn’t around to do it, well, she made her instructions clear on what he was to do if she was gone and he was caught. He didn’t listen, and here he is. He’s danced with death so many times since then. Maybe it would’ve been easier for him to take his life then with his own hands rather than having it be at the hands of another and out of his control. </p><p>Ichirou’s hand is suddenly gone and Nathaniel peels over, falling off the seat like a sack of rocks. He coughs and sputters against the floor of the car, desperately trying to regain his breath. The struggle only further upset him. Nathaniel chokes on a low whine. He doesn’t feel good. He really, <em>really</em> doesn’t feel good. He tries to swallow down the extra saliva that builds in his mouth as his stomach churns uncomfortably. </p><p>“You expect me to believe such a thing?”</p><p>Nathaniel is too busy gasping and coughing to form a coherent response. </p><p>“But then, of course, one also consider how <em>you</em> learned about the meeting. As I said, it was Moriyama and Ostrovsky business. Did Sasha tell you about this meeting and you told your uncle?”</p><p>Nathaniel shakes his head. The movement makes him even more nauseous, but he hasn’t quite regained his voice yet. </p><p>“No? I’ve heard that Sasha’s grown quite sweet on you. You two talk nearly as much as you fuck.”</p><p>Nathaniel winces at Ichirou’s crass language and the memories that come with it. Those words certainly confirm that the Moriyamas do, in fact, have cameras in the loft Sasha and Nathaniel…spend time in together. The redhead presses his face against the floor of the car, counting to ten in all the languages that he knows. Ichirou’s polish shoe nudges his side firmly, right over the shallow knife wound from earlier. </p><p>“Answer me.”</p><p>“I swear to you,” Nathaniel huffs. “I didn’t have anything to do with this.”</p><p>A hand snags Nathaniel’s hair and pulls his head back, dragging his body up along with it until he’s kneeling in front of Ichirou. Nathaniel cries out from the harsh and unexpected grip. His scalp aches painfully. Ichirou’s other hand grips his face painfully again, and the Moriyama stares at him, at his eyes, as if he’s looking for something in particular. </p><p>His father may be hundreds of miles away in prison, but something just as deadly and more powerful sits in front of him. Even with a head full of taffy, Nathaniel knows he’s walking a thin line. </p><p>“I don’t even have a way to get a hold of my u—the Hatfords,” he stutters, explains, gasps. He had no cell phone and with there his near-constant supervision, he could hardly sneak off to use find a landline or payphone. “And even if I did, I don’t have a phone number!”</p><p>Ichirou stares and searches, his face impassive despite the panic attack enveloping Nathaniel. </p><p>“Giichi,” Ichirou says. He keeps his eyes locked on Nathaniel, but holds his hand out. Another hand appears from somewhere in the front seat and places a single sharp knife in Ichirou’s hand. His father would use a cleaver or an ax—something harsher. Ichirou goes for something not as large but just as grand. It’s smaller and flatter, more angular than curved. A Yakuza short sword. </p><p>“I don’t want to have to use this on you, Nathaniel,” Ichirou says as he grasps the knife and brings it close to Nathaniel’s face. The redhead tries to jerk away, but the Moriyama’s grip on his hair is firm. “But I’ve learned you’re more responsive to certain ways of persuasion.”</p><p> Nathaniel grinds his teeth together and looks up at the ceiling, his chest heaving and blood boiling. He hates feeling trapped inside his own body, unable to communicate to his limbs what he wants them to do. He’s completely at the mercy of others. </p><p>“If your father had done his job properly, he wouldn’t be in prison. He’d be here. Delivering this lesson to you himself.”</p><p>“I’m glad he’s not here” are the words that spill from Nathaniel’s lax lips. “I <em>am</em> glad he’s in prison, but I didn’t—I wasn’t involved. I would be <em>stupid</em> to be. All the signs point to me. It’s too obvious.”</p><p>Ichirou slowly pulls away the knife. It’s still in front of his face, but the distance eases some of the anxiousness sitting in the pit of his stomach. There is still plenty to spare, however. </p><p>“You think someone set you up?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I didn’t know about <em>any</em> of this until just a moment ago. <em>I swear it</em>.”</p><p>Ichirou releases Nathaniel’s hair from his grip and the redhead is left to slump against the seats once again, this time he’s on the floor, facing Ichirou. The Moriyama rests the blade on his thigh. </p><p>“I don’t trust you, but what I do trust, Nathaniel, is the fear we have installed in you. You know you have nothing else—no one else. That is why you have served us well for the past three years since you’ve been back. The only options you have are the ones we give you. So, yes, I want to believe you had nothing to do with this.”</p><p>Nathaniel holds his breath while his brain drips.</p><p>“It turns out Riko must have heard something about the attack and took it out on you before my uncle could come and retrieve you for questioning.”</p><p>Nathaniel’s mind is filled with images from that night on the roof. Jean had come to him, clearly panicked about something. But Riko was close behind. He had taken out his anger on Nathaniel and shipped the redhead off to South Carolina. At the time Nathaniel hadn’t known what the reason behind it was, although Riko’s never really needed a reason to be violent. But now everything makes sense. </p><p>“Things just aren’t adding up, Nathaniel. The Ostrovskys have fled back to Russia. They’re silent, which means they either had something to do with the attack and double-crossed us <em>or</em> they believe we double-crossed them. Hmm.”</p><p>Nathaniel fights to stay coherent and retain this information. His father: gone. Sasha: gone. The Moriyamas are still here. Jean. <em>Jean</em>. The redhead doesn’t realize he’s said the last name aloud until Ichirou hums once again. </p><p>“Ah, yes. Your partner. Another one of our investments. Jean Moreau. He’s always been quiet and obedient. The least problematic, if you will. He actually came to me shortly after you disappeared, pleading on your behalf.”</p><p>An audible gasp escapes his mouth and the despair is flitting across his face as soon as Ichirou speaks the words. <em>Jean. Jean did what?</em> </p><p>Nathaniel and Jean hadn’t been on good terms the few weeks—months, really—before Nathaniel was sent away. The reasons behind their divide are obvious. It hurt them both, in more ways than one. They had nearly been attached by the hip since Jean arrived at the Nest. Jean was the only person Nathaniel could trust and he’d like to think he was the only person Jean could trust. That is until Nathaniel flushed all of Jean’s pills. But their distance was noticed by others, especially Riko, who mercilessly picked at the two of them and used Jean and Nathaniel’s separation to their advantage. </p><p>But Jean had been the one to warn Nathaniel that night. And now he had gone to Ichirou Moriyama to speak on Nathaniel’s behalf? </p><p>“Don’t worry,” Ichirou says. “I didn’t hurt him. He’s well-spoken, especially for someone whose first language is not English. I can somewhat relate. He told me some interesting things, however, in an attempt to clear your name.”</p><p>Nathaniel’s heart is beating much too fast and he is sweating, despite the cool flush blanketing his body. His melting brain tries to figure out just what Jean could have told him. Nathaniel has secrets, of course—some of which he’s never shared, not even with Jean. </p><p>“His words made me understand Riko’s….animosity towards you. My younger brother has always sought our attention, so he was jealous you were receiving it instead. For what it’s worth, I apologize for the pain you were put through because of it.”</p><p><em>No, you’re not</em>, Nathaniel thinks, trying to keep the anger from being shown on his face. He doesn’t quite think he’s successful, however, because the corner of Ichirou’s lips quirks up. </p><p>“And while you perhaps are nice to look at, I’m not interested.”</p><p>“Tell that to Riko,” Nathaniel hisses out. His clothes stick to his body and the increasing frustration he’s feeling only adds to the internal heat. </p><p>“I won’t have to,” Ichirou says simply. “With the information from Mr. Moreau and my uncle, I’ve decided to take a new course of action.” Ichirou picks up the knife. He holds it nonchalantly, but his grip is right. He’s the heir to the Japanese mafia. Of course, he knows how to wield weapons. </p><p>“I want you to listen carefully Nathaniel because this is your opportunity to distance yourself from that fine line you are currently walking.”</p><p>Everything is coming down full force now. It feels as if gravity has just magnified in intensity and Nathaniel just wants to sink into the flooring, the pavement, the earth. He just wants to disappear. </p><p>“I want you to return back to South Carolina and stay there until I tell you otherwise. I understand that Kevin Day is down there. I do hope you two had a riveting reunion. If you didn’t, well, you’ll have another opportunity to make that happen. </p><p>“My uncle found out that Kevin Day’s mother left behind some items for her son. One for a letter informing Kevin of his real father: David Wymack. The coach of the Foxes. It all makes sense why he fled to Palmetto, doesn’t it?</p><p>“Well, Kayleigh Day also left behind an inheritance. We do not know what it is exactly, but we know it amounts to a large sum of money. Millions of dollars—perhaps enough to pay off your remaining debt.”</p><p>The air in the car is particularly thin. Nathaniel is sweating entirely too much, but he doesn’t have the strength to lift his arms up and take the jacket off. The blood against his side would have dried already if it weren’t for the perspiration coating his skin. </p><p>Ichirou wants him to stay in Palmetto? The coach is Kevin’s father? Nathaniel is to collect Kevin’s inheritance? And then Nathaniel will be free? No, he knows better than that. Even now. <em>Especially now.</em></p><p>“We are unsure if Kevin Day knows about this inheritance, but he’ll be notified and be given access to it on his twentieth birthday.”</p><p>Kevin turns twenty next February. Right after Nathaniel turns eighteen. Does Ichirou expect Nathaniel to be with the Foxes until then? That’s nearly…it’s a long time. <em>Too long.</em> </p><p>Nathaniel begins shaking his head. No, <em>no</em>. He can’t go back. He said he wouldn’t. And <em>Jean</em>. He <em>can’t</em> return to Palmetto...and…and face them and their…the way they act. He can’t leave Jean alone with Riko. He <em>won't</em>. </p><p>“You <em>will</em>,” Ichirou says harshly, “because if you don’t, then you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”</p><p>Nathaniel squeezes his eyes shut and his head drops back against the leather seat when it becomes too heavy to support. He still sees too much with his eyes closed. </p><p>“My father is in the hospital. Your father is in prison. Our empire is being threatened. Do <em>not</em> push it, Nathaniel. <em>Know your place</em>. You should be grateful I’m sending you to South Carolina and not Russia,” Ichirou all but hisses. </p><p>If a whimper escapes Nathaniel’s lips, he doesn’t notice. Not then. He doesn’t really notice anything outside of his body. </p><p>“You will go down to South Carolina. Make friends, play nice. Do whatever you have to and get that information about Day’s inheritance. Doing so will pay off your debt and show me that you are still loyal and useful. With your father in prison, you’re the only person who can uphold the Wesninski name.”</p><p>“I—I don’t—“</p><p><em>I don’t want it</em>, he tries to moan out. <em>I don’t want any of it. I don’t know what to do.</em> </p><p>Ichirou grasps his jaw again. His fingers are firm against his skin, bordering on harsh. But the Moriyama knows he has Nathaniel. After all, he’s right: what other choices does Nathaniel have? Nathaniel’s disoriented panic is a drastic contrast from Ichirou’s smooth confidence. It’s a smooth confidence that promises pain if one disobeys. Ichirou’s not afraid. He never <em>has</em> to be. </p><p>“You will do what I tell you,” Ichirou says evenly. When they’re both standing, Ichirou is several inches taller than Nathaniel. With the redhead sitting on the floor, the Moriyama’s vantage point is even greater. He stares down at Nathaniel with his unnerving black eyes. The iris is indistinguishable from the pupil. Nathaniel’s always hated being under the direct attention of that gaze. “As for everything else, you will figure it out.”</p><p>Nathaniel stares back at Ichirou, lips parted and eyes unfocused as his brain whirls. <em>Everything else…he’ll figure it out…</em></p><p>Ichirou’s grip tightens by a fraction against Nathaniel’s skin as he leans down and closer. Nathaniel wills himself to not flinch away. He feels…raw and lost and confused. At the Nest, he constantly had his guard up and expected the worst at all times. But now…here…he was…had a week away from Edgar Allen really caused him to slip up this much? No…impossible. He would never stop expecting bad things to happen. It was…that would be like suddenly expecting the sun to stop rising every day. It just didn’t happen. </p><p>Then, why—<em>why</em>—did he feel like this?…exposed and vulnerable. Like he was naked. Like the Moriyama has ripped back his skin and his armor and observed him under a microscope. </p><p><em>He sees everything. He</em> knows <em>everything</em>. </p><p>He’s the chess master, and Nathaniel is the pawn. </p><p>“Show me,” Ichirou softly, simply, evenly says those familiar words, “that you can still be useful, Nathaniel.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope yall liked it! Now we're kind of transitioning into the second part of the story!! Feel free to leave a kudos, comment, bookmark, follow me on <a href="https://twitter.com/emptyambrosia">Twitter</a>, etc.! I love interacting and hearing from yall!</p><p>Also, I published a new Andriel Trojan War fic too! You can always check that out...you know...if you want ;)</p><p>Thanks for reading!</p><p>-orth</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Choices Made And Taken</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nathaniel hadn’t even realized he’d faded away from the world around him until he is opening up his eyes and finds himself back on a bus. It takes him a few moments to get his brain back online and organize his thoughts, but then everything comes back at once—it returns as a huge wave crashing over him and dragging him under. Nathaniel is helpless against the tides. He’s overwhelmed. His father is in prison. Kengo is in the hospital. The Ostrovskys are back in Russia. His uncle—the Hatfords—attacked the Moriyamas. And he is in the middle of it all. Everything’s going to shit. And to top it off, Ichirou ordered him to return to Palmetto, which is likely what he’s currently doing, seeing as he woke up on a bus very similar to the one he was riding up to West Virginia in. Fuck, those drugs really must’ve hit him hard all at once. </p><p>Once all the new information finishes downloading, the panic sets in shortly after. What the fuck is he supposed to do? Ichirou gave him an end goal with no instructions on how to get there. What is he supposed to tell Wymack? Abby? Kevin? Andrew? Fuck, <em>Andrew</em>. </p><p><em>"Don’t come back,"</em> Andrew had said and that’s exactly what Nathaniel is doing. </p><p>Nathaniel would like to think he’s a good liar, subpar at least, but Andrew is content on picking him apart. Nathaniel was able to hold his own against Andrew, avoid him or lie between his teeth, but that’s because his stay in Palmetto was supposed to be short—very short. But now—<em>now</em> Ichirou wants Nathaniel to stay until <em>February</em>!? The longer stay means he’ll have to formulate a stronger alibi. The Foxes are a group of troubled individuals who have seen their fair share of shit. They won’t take everything at face value. They’ve already begun cracking into his walls, but he could always tell himself <em>"it’s fine. You’ll be gone soon."</em> That was before. He can’t say that anymore. Nathaniel is going to have to fend them off for <em>months</em> while also protecting himself and completing the task Ichirou sent him back to do: find out how to gain access to Kevin’s inheritance. </p><p>And school. <em>School</em>. Nathaniel’s been taking online classes, but all of his supplies are back at The Nest. He has one more year left. If he doesn’t finish and graduate high school, he can’t play Exy in college. Ichirou hadn’t even <em>mentioned</em> school. </p><p>Yeah, no problem. It’s fine. He’s fine. Everything’s fine. Just—<em>fuck</em>. </p><p>Nathaniel digs the base of his palms into his eyes as he hunches over in his seat. He needs a game plan. He needs to stop panicked. He needs an out. Somewhere he can go or something he can do to get out of this. </p><p>He slouches back in his seat and just…<em>sits</em> for the remainder of the ride. His brain is empty because he can’t handle anything else. Everything he knows is there but locked away in a filing cabinet that he can’t access. His hand goes straight through if he tries to open it, which he really doesn’t try because he’s fucking exhausted. </p><p>So, when the bus stops in Palmetto, Nathaniel has…nothing. He chuckles as he climbs off the bus because that…sounds fitting. Maybe that’s his game plan. Play the <em>‘nothing’</em> card. He has nothing and is nothing and came from nothing—he could play that easily, but he doesn’t know if they will bite. </p><p>He walks instead of runs back to Wymack’s, so it takes him nearly a full hour. It feels like a walk of shame. He ran away in the middle of dinner and stole some of their belongings. And here he is, 24 hours later, trudging right back. Nathaniel hates it, but he can’t <em>not</em> return. He’s sure Ichirou has some way to keep tabs on him to make sure he’s actually in Palmetto and not running again. </p><p>When Nathaniel finally reaches Wymack’s apartment buildings, he’s hit with the realization that there’s no way for him to get up to Wymack’s apartment. The doorway into the apartment complex locks when it gets dark, so you need a key to get in. He doesn’t have one and he has no way of calling Wymack to let him know he’s down here. <em>Fuck</em>. Again. </p><p>He debates between waiting down here or walking to Abby’s instead. Kevin and Andrew are likely at Abby’s, though. Nathaniel’s slept in worse places before. It’s warm out, too. He could snuggle up against a tree and wait.</p><p>Though, it seems like due to some twisted sort of fate he won’t have to sleep outside tonight because a moment later he sees Wymack’s beaten-up truck pull into the parking lot. Nathaniel stays hidden in the shadows, frozen, and for a moment he considers darting off and saying <em>screw you</em> to Ichirou and his rules. That would be suicide. So, while this current predicament may be painful now, avoiding this will lead to his imminent death later. </p><p>Nathaniel waits until Wymack gets out of the car. He watches as the older day steps out of the driver’s seat with a heavy sign and wipes a hand over his face as he walks towards the front door of the building. Nathaniel steps out of the shadows and follows him. He doesn’t get too close. </p><p>“Wymack,” he says. Saying just that single word tickles his throat uncomfortably. </p><p>The Foxes coach curses and spins around. He drops his keys and brings up a hand like he’s about to hit whoever snuck up on him. That’s why Nathaniel stopped out of arm’s reach, but that still doesn’t stop him from flinching and stumbling back at the familiar move. Wymack, though, quickly realizes who it is and lower his hand. </p><p>“Jesus Fuck! Nathaniel?” Wymack says. “Where’ve you been? We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”</p><p>Nathaniel lowers his arms and faces the Foxes coach, the guilt and the ache settling in his ribcage. </p><p>“I told you I had to go back to The Nest,” he says simply. He’s glad that the limited lighting outside allows for half of his face to be covered by the shadows. It makes this easier. </p><p>“Yeah? Then what are you doing back here?”</p><p>Nathaniel grips the straps of the drawstring bag and weaves them between his fingers. “It didn’t work out,” he says simply. The best lies are half-truths. </p><p>“Clearly,” Wymack grunts out, sounding and looking back to his useful self. The shock is gone now, replaced with…irritation? disapproval? resentment? Nathaniel left and stole from them after they’d been <em>nothing</em> but nice to him. Why would they take him back in? He was more trouble than he was worth. They would figure that out sooner or later. But apparently, that’s isn’t today. </p><p>Wymack nods his head towards the door. “Come on.”</p><p>Nathaniel trails behind him silently as they go up the stairs—they rarely use the elevator. One day Nathaniel had said that he liked the exercise, so Wymack agreed they’d use the stairs instead. When they get into Wymack’s apartment, it looks the same as before. It’s odd. Nathaniel expects it to look the same. It’s only been just over a day since he'd last seen the space, but so much has happened in those twenty-something hours. He feels like he’s years older now than he was just yesterday due to all the information Ichirou dumped on him. </p><p>He stays standing in the front of the apartment for a while, thinking. Wymack must’ve gone into the kitchen at some point because he comes back and tosses a Tupperware container on the table to the right of Nathaniel. The redhead startles slightly at the slapping noise it makes when it falls on the wood. </p><p>“Leftovers,” Wymack explains, “from last night. We had a lot and Abby. She gave me some…and a bit extra just in case you came back.”</p><p>
  <em>Just in case you came back.</em>
</p><p>Nathaniel digs his fingers into his side, right over his small knife wound until the pain awakens and spreads. He deserves it. He’ll need to look at that wound soon, though. </p><p>“Thanks,” Nathaniel mutters. “That was nice of her.”</p><p>He’s acting as if he went on some little pre-planned trip. As if he was always planning on coming back and he told them all ahead of time and he didn’t lie or steal or sneak. </p><p>Nathaniel sits at the table and takes the fork Wymack hands him. The coach heated the leftover pasta up. Nathaniel’s <em>starving</em>, but when he goes to spear the homemade pasta and lift it into his mouth, he can’t. His hand halts as if the puppet strings have reached their limit and can’t extend any further. He tries to pull and bring his hand and the steaming food closer to his mouth. His hand trembles with the effort until he gets so frustrated that he just drops the utensil altogether. It clatters against the plastic container before falling onto the table. Wymack watches the whole thing silently, which further unnerves Nathaniel. </p><p>“What happened while you were gone?”</p><p>The redhead stares down at the table, the pasta, the fork—anywhere but Wymack. He doesn’t speak because what can he say? Not the truth—but what would they believe? He saw how Nathaniel just acted because of some freaking leftovers. Nathaniel can’t say <em>nothing</em> happened. It sounds ridiculous even to him. </p><p>And as if reading his mind, Wymack says, “You have handprints on your neck, Nathaniel, so you can’t say ‘nothing.’”</p><p>Nathaniel’s hands fly up to touch his neck. It’s sensitive to the touch, but he didn’t notice anything before—didn’t <em>think</em> about it—didn’t <em>remember</em>—stupid, <em>stupid</em>. It’s obvious he ran into someone. Someone bad. He could possibly say it was random. He got mugged or something, but they already know he’s involved in bad people. <em>Shit</em>. Ichirou really roughed him up and then threw him out to fend for himself.</p><p>When Nathaniel still doesn’t respond, Wymack lets out another heavy sigh. “Jesus, you all are going to send me to an early grave. Fine, you don’t have to tell me. Tomorrow morning, we’re going to Abby’s to let her see you. She was worried after you disappeared. Afterward, we’re going to Betsy. We can decide what to do from there.”</p><p><em>Disappeared</em>. Such a kind word. Wymack can call it what it was. Nathaniel ran away. Voluntarily.</p><p>None of what the Foxes coach just said what a question. It was spoken with an unrelenting tone. After everything, Nathaniel could at least agree to this. So, he does. Plus, it’ll give him some time to figure out the Kevin thing when he sees him at Abby’s. </p><p>Wymack stands up and swipes the container and fork in front of him and takes it back into the kitchen. He then lends Nathaniel some clothes to sleep in and throws a spare pillow and blanket at Nathaniel. </p><p>“Couch is lumpy as shit, but it’s better than nothing,” Wymack says. </p><p>So, no bedroom. He wasn’t expecting it. Even from the beginning, he thought it was unfair that he took the only bedroom in Wymack’s own apartment, leaving Wymack to the couch. But he was healing and the Foxes coach wanted to make sure he didn’t run off. Now, he clearly didn’t have the same concerns. Nathaniel was all healed—for the most part—and just voluntarily returned. Or rather, Wymack thinks he voluntarily returned. </p><p>However, part of Nathaniel can’t help but think the downgrade is personal. He <em>knows</em> he should consider it practical. Who <em>would</em> give their bedroom up? Not many people. Offering them a place to sleep at all is generous. But the toxic part of Nathaniel’s brain—that part that hates him more than anything—starts talking. </p><p>
  <em>He’s pissed. This is like a big "fuck you."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’re lucky he even let you in.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He clearly doesn’t care if you run away anymore. In fact, he probably wants you to so he can finally rid his hands of you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He’s realized you’re too much.</em>
</p><p>Nathaniel grabs the blanket and pillow after he’s changed and settles on the couch. It is lumpy and rough and uncomfortable, but Nathaniel has slept in a lot of worse places. At least he’s warm and he’s sleeping on a flat, safe surface. He hears Wymack mumbling something from the kitchen. Nathaniel thinks he’s on the phone. </p><p>“Need anything else? I have some painkillers,” Wymack says before he heads to bed. He gestures around his neck, meaning to refer to Nathaniel's own injuries</p><p>“No,” Nathaniel mutters. <em>Yes, so much</em>. “Thank you.”</p><p>Wymack grunts and goes to move down his hallway. Something grips Nathaniel’s heart from the inside. It squeezes and twists until all the air is wrung out of Nathaniel’s lungs in a few seconds. It’s a suffocating and heavy feeling that sits on his chest and wrings things out of him that he wouldn’t normally expose. </p><p><em>“I’m sorry,”</em> Nathaniel gasps out into the old couch cushion—because he <em>is</em>. He’s done what he’s had to do in the past to survive; that doesn’t mean he hadn’t felt guilty afterward. His mother would always make it sound like an ultimatum: <em>"it's them or you."</em> But he still <em>felt</em>. And he doesn’t know if Wymack heard him because the older man doesn’t say anything in response. He just flips off the light switch and heads down the hall to his bedroom. </p><p>Nathaniel’s not able to fall asleep for a long time. </p><p>*****</p><p>Abby’s smile is big when she sees him the next morning. Her eyes are pickling with tears, especially when she takes in the bruises on his neck, which stand out even more in broad daylight. Nathaniel has to look away because he’s eventually going to do this to them again, except this time he won’t come back. Still, he tries to keep on a face for Abby. He doesn’t necessarily know what kind of face he’s making, but he hopes it’s acceptable. </p><p>As for Abby’s tenants, their reactions are pretty much what he expected. Aaron almost looks completely bored and uninterested that he’s back. <em>Almost</em>. There’s a bit of thinly-veiled suspicion in his eyes. Nicky actually looks like he might cry, which is a bit surprising considering the fact that he barely knew Nathaniel. Then again, the tears could be for the clothing Nathaniel stole. He needs to wash it and give it back to Hemmick. He should apologize, though. </p><p>“Sorry,” he tells Nicky in front of everyone, “for taking your clothes. I have them and I’ll return them.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Nicky sniffles and Nathaniel honestly doesn’t know how to react. </p><p>Andrew's expression isn’t flat but close to it. He looks unimpressed like Nathaniel just ruined everything—which maybe he did. But underneath the painted mask put in place by his medication, Nathaniel sees just enough frigidness to know that Andrew is not pleased with his return. Kevin looks both relieved and nauseous at his return. The latter expectant; the former, not so much. </p><p>Abby tries to ask him questions, but he’s careful or quiet with his answers. He can tell she’s worried, but she doesn’t push, which is another thing he just can’t seem to get used to with these people. They…<em>respect</em> his boundaries. He doesn’t remember…that just doesn’t happen to him much. </p><p>It’s no surprise that Abby demands they stay for breakfast. She already began cooking and cooking a lot, so really it would be rude if they left. With how Wymack so easily and quickly says yes, Nathaniel is <em>positive</em> that (1) they are together and he’s smitten with her, and (2) this was premeditated. </p><p>So, Nathaniel helps her cook because she asks because <em>she knows</em> how he is with food. Nicky jumps in, as well, and Nathaniel is struck with the parallel between right and the night he left. So, he holds it all back and when breakfast is done being cooked and all there is that’s left is a few finishing touches and serving, Nathaniel excuses himself to go to the bathroom. He’s not planning on running away. Of course not, but he sees all of them pause. Their facade cracks and he doesn’t blame them. He would be suspicious of himself, too. </p><p>But they let him go because they…<em>trust him</em>? It’s odd, so very, very odd this new, additional space he now has. The rope around his neck has loosened some and he’s able to walk further and <em>breathe</em> a bit better. </p><p>Nathaniel stares at himself in the mirror. He tears the bandage off from over his cheek and stares at the black <em>4</em>. Ichirou didn’t touch it. He didn’t <em>mention</em> it either. Why? Had he known Riko was going to mark him? Did he have something to do with it too? Did he omit that or lie about it? Was <em>anything</em> Ichirou said in that car the truth? </p><p>The last thought shakes him down to the bones and he grips the sides of the sink until his fingers and palms are bruised. </p><p>
  <em>Ichirou could’ve lied. About all of it or some or none. You don’t know. You’re just the puppet.</em>
</p><p>Shit. <em>Shit</em>. He knows his best bet is to follow Ichirou’s order—even if they do seem impossible right now. Ichirou wouldn’t set him up for failure, right? Not because he cares—Nathaniel isn’t that naive—but because Nathaniel still could produce some use for the Moriyamas. They wouldn't drop an asset like him so quickly, right? <em>Right?</em></p><p>A knock on the bathroom door pulls him back out of his thoughts. He blinks at the mirror and then flinches back before he realizes it’s only his own reflection, not one of his other nightmares. The knock on the door happens again. </p><p>“Just a second.”</p><p>He assumes it’s Wymack or Abby or Nicky checking up on him to make sure he hasn’t run off. <em>Don’t worry</em>, he wants to say, <em>still obviously accounted for.</em></p><p>Nathaniel swings open the door and goes to step into the hallway, but finds that Aaron is the one they sent up to get him. He stops in the doorway, partly due to surprise and partly due to the fact that Aaron is blocking half of the exit. </p><p>“Oh, sorry,” Nathaniel says stupidly. “I’m coming back down, so…”</p><p>Out of everyone he’s met here, Nathaniel’s had the least amount of interaction with Aaron—which he’s fine with. Aaron shows no interest in him and Nathaniel has no desire to get to know Aaron, so when the other Minyard twin doesn’t immediately scoff or roll his eyes or walk off, Nathaniel’s…confused. </p><p>Instead, Aaron pushes Nathaniel back inside the bathroom and slides in after him. He shuts and locks the door and leans back against it. Nathaniel immediately tenses up at being cornered. He feels his fight or flight instinct kick in. His claws reappear. </p><p>“What the hell—?”</p><p>“What are you doing?” Aaron asks. </p><p>Nathaniel blinks and shifts a bit towards the sink. “What? I’m trying to go downstairs, but you shoved me back in here.”</p><p>“No, I mean what are you doing <em>back here</em>?” Aaron shoots back viciously. There’s a dangerous spark in his eyes.</p><p>Nathaniel falters for a moment, brain searching. He licks his lips. “I thought I should go back, but I didn’t want to. Abby and Wymack have been—nice, and I—I realized my mistake and came back, but not before running into some people who roughed me up.” Nathaniel gestures to his neck. </p><p>Aaron narrowed his eyes—the same eyes as Andrew’s. It’s unnerving how alike they look—although they <em>are</em> twins. “I don’t believe you, Nathaniel. I think those marks on your neck have a different story to tell."</p><p>Nathaniel rolls his eyes, letting the building anger fuel in responses. </p><p>“Well, I don’t necessarily care if you believe me because I don’t give a shit about your opinion,” he snaps as he goes to open the door. If he has to reach around Aaron to do it, he will. Right as he goes to reach past Aaron for the doorknob, something sharp against his stomach causes him to freeze right where he is. His body recognizes what it is before his mind processes it Maybe because he was in this exact same situation only a day ago. He’s getting <em>really</em> tired of ending up in this exact situation. Although, something tells him that he’ll always be ending up in this sort of situation—him, being cornered and controlled; someone else, threatening him and trying to control him and using a knife for <em>incentive</em> because <em>poor little Nathaniel can’t stand knives even though he can use them better than most people can use a piece of silverware.</em></p><p>He doesn’t think Aaron carries knives, though. That’s all Andrew. Unless they're both just as psychotic. </p><p>“I thought I told you not to come back, Nathaniel,” Aaron muses—no, definitely Andrew; Nathaniel knows it’s Andrew at this point. <em>Fuck</em>, did they really play the whole switcheroo card on him—and the others—just so Andrew could get Nathaniel along to talk, which Nathaniel is sure will be more threatening and hurting than anything. He grits his teeth and stares at the white-painted door. </p><p><em>Breathe</em>, he reminds himself. His mother’s voice echoes in the back of his mind. <em>You’ve dealt with much scarier people.</em></p><p>“I thought that was a test,” Nathaniel says, a sharp grin growing on his face. He’s digging his own grave, but Minyard won’t stab him—probably. Plus, if he does, Abby’s just downstairs. Nathaniel needs to deal with Minyard first—to <em>understand</em> Minyard first—if he wants to ever get to Kevin. “Did I pass?”</p><p>“You failed.”</p><p>“Oh, well is there extra credit or…?”</p><p>“Shut up,” Andrew snaps. His expression twists into a full snarl and his hand that’s not holding the knife comes to grab Nathaniel’s jaw—not his neck where another set of bruises already lays. “I was civil when you were here before because I knew you were a runner and you were going to leave, but now you’re back, proving you’re unreliable in that regard. And if anything, this little stunt you pulled makes you seem like a Raven spy <em>even more</em>.”</p><p>Nathaniel pushes down the alarm that comes when Andrew hits the nail right on the head. “Get your hand off me,” he says carefully between measured breaths. He didn’t have a choice with Ichirou, but he does now. He <em>does</em>. </p><p>“Am I invading your space? Well, you're invading <em>my</em> space, Nathaniel, by coming back here,” Andrew shoots back. </p><p>Nathaniel grits his teeth and leans his chin back to further himself from Andrew’s touch. It’s strong and unrelenting. It brings back memories and feelings. “I’m not a Raven, let alone a spy.”</p><p>“Oh, really? Not a Raven? That mark on your cheek says otherwise. And every Raven is a spy. I’ve heard they beat it into you,” Andrew says savagely. His voice is mean, but his expression is calm again. Flat and cold. </p><p>“Did you think Kevin was a spy?”</p><p>”At first.”</p><p>“But then you changed your mind,” Nathaniel says, digging at something. </p><p>“You’re either a Raven or someone too broken for them to use anymore,” Andrew says, completely ignoring Nathaniel’s previous statement. “Which is it?”</p><p>
  <em>He honestly doesn’t know.</em>
</p><p>Nathaniel <em>does</em> know that Andrew is acting differently, more in control, less exaggerated. If he and Aaron played the switcheroo card, then that means—</p><p>“You’re off your meds,” Nathaniel guesses. Right now he’s not taking them, so he can play the part of Aaron. </p><p>Andrew doesn't give him a clear answer, though. "You going to write that deduction in your notepad that you bring back to the Ravens?”</p><p>“I’m not going back,” Nathaniel spits out. </p><p>“That’s not your choice to make,” Andrew says, pushing back with his words and his hands, and Nathaniel snaps. He shoves Andrew back, or at least he tries to. Andrew is shorter but stronger and prepared. The blond is the one who shoves Nathaniel back—right against the wall between the toilet and the shelf. Nathaniel’s feet are slipping against the tile, but Andrew’s grip is unyielding. In this position, pinned against the wall and sliding if it weren’t for Andrew, the blond is actually looking down at him. Anywhere Nathaniel goes to move, Andrew or a knife is there, pressing him back. Nathaniel squeezes his eyes shut, but Andrew taps his cheek, right above his number. </p><p>“Ah, ah, ah. Eyes open.”</p><p>“Let me <em>go</em>.”</p><p>“Only if you promise to run and not come back.”</p><p>“I can’t leave,” Nathaniel laments. </p><p>“Can’t?” Andrew verifies. “Or won’t?”</p><p>Nathaniel jerks, reminding himself that he needs to be more careful with his words. Andrew’s purposely digging for something. He doesn’t trust Nathaniel—rightfully so, but this just makes everything harder—especially <em>this</em>.</p><p>“Does it matter?” Nathaniel hisses. “Let me go or I’ll hurt you.”</p><p>“I told you what would happen if you didn’t leave. I said I will personally make sure you’re gone, one way or another, and I don’t go back on my word, Nathaniel,” Andrew hisses right back. He leans and Nathaniel shuts his eyes again. His senses are overloading. His mind is full and brewing with new information he can't handle. He just needs some <em>space</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. This is only temporary. You've dealt with worse.</em>
</p><p>“Hey,” Andrew snaps. </p><p>
  <em>“Get off me.”</em>
</p><p>“You’re not listening—“</p><p>“<em>You’re</em> not listening. <em>Get off</em>!” Nathaniel practically screeches. He shoves Andrew away and much to his surprise, the blond goes with it. He pulls his knife and hands and body away and backs up. Without Andrew holding his up, Nathaniel slides to the ground. His muscles feel like he just ran ten miles despite having done nothing. They’re quivering—he’s quivering. On the bathroom floor. In front of Andrew who is currently looking at him with the same blank expression as before. Except that this time his eyes are much more attentive. He watches Nathaniel closely. Sees his shaking hands and his wide eyes. Hears his panicked breaths. And Nathaniel is—angry. After the panic subsides—it’s like a switch sometimes—he’s <em>angry</em> at Andrew for so many things, but most of all for <em>seeing</em> this. <em>Seeing</em> Nathaniel scared and shaking and vulnerable. He didn’t give him permission. How <em>dare he</em>—</p><p>“Stop.”</p><p>Nathaniel jerks his head up, not aware that he had been digging his nails into his arms and legs and hands and anywhere else he could reach. He stares at Andrew and hears the footsteps bounding up the stairs. Oh, his yell must’ve been heard by everyone else. Still, Andrew doesn’t move. He just continues to stare down at Nathaniel from the other side of the bathroom, the knife having long disappeared. </p><p>“Fine. You’re staying?” Nathaniel doesn’t make any move to correct him. “Then it looks like we’re all going to be taking a trip to get to know each other better.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Another update!! Woohoo! I know the update schedule got kind of out of wack due to school and my job, but I'm going to try to be consistent once again. So, this is the update for this weekend. Expect chapter 16 sometime next weekend after Christmas. </p><p>Some development slowly happening in this chapter! The Minyard switch happened and some truth was spilled, albeit not exactly willingly. I think you all know where this is heading based on the last line....</p><p>I hope you enjoyed it! This is my second updates TODAY and my fourth within this week, so I'm been on a writing grind lately haha</p><p>Feel free to leave a kudos, comment, bookmark, follow me on <a href="https://twitter.com/emptyambrosia">Twitter</a>, etc. I love getting feedback from yall. It makes my day. </p><p>thanks for reading!</p><p>- orth</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. I Don't Want To Face Myself</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter Warnings: domestic violence and abuse, eating disorders, negative body image and discussion, mentions and recalling of sexual abuse and harassment. </p><p>If anyone has any questions or wants to talk in regard to the chapter warnings, feel free to privately message me on Twitter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nathaniel’s fingers card through the brown fur of the dog that’s currently draped over his lap. Wookiee huffs, his warm breath fluttering Nathaniel’s shirt—well, Wymack’s shirt—and tickling his skin. Nathaniel scratches the dog behind his ears, which he seems to like because he makes a pleased noise and snuggles closer to Nathaniel. The additional weight pressing him down should make him feel panicked or trapped, but instead, he finds it rather comforting. Wookiee is like a warm blanket, holding him steady and present and safe. <em>Here</em>. It sounds ridiculous, he knows, but everything in his life has always been ridiculous, especially lately.</p><p>“What are you thinking about?” Betsy asks him from the loveseat. </p><p>“How soft Wookiee’s fur is,” he responds, which isn’t <em>untrue</em>. That was a thought floating around. The dog’s fur is very nice to run his fingers through. </p><p>Betsy lets out a soft laugh. “Yes, he does have very soft fur. He’s definitely a nice cuddle-buddy—keeps you warm.”</p><p>Nathaniel just hums in agreement and continues moving his finger. He <em>is</em> very warm and comfortable. </p><p>Betsy adds, “He really seems to like you. Wookiee usually keeps his distance for a while before cuddling up with someone like that.”  </p><p>Nathaniel ignores Betsy’s smile and her words. Betsy has her show playing on the TV again. Nathaniel still does not know the name of it. Betsy doesn’t seem to be paying too much attention to it herself, though, which Nathaniel finds rather foolish because she’s just going to have to re-watch it later. However, he doesn’t say anything about it. </p><p>“I think he missed you, too.”</p><p>Nathaniel frowns. <em>"Too"</em>—as in, in addition to. Nathaniel pushes all the thoughts away that come with that lone word. He’d been there for a week before he left. They didn’t even know him—they still don’t. </p><p>“He’s a dog,” Nathaniel states bluntly. “And I was gone for a day. I don’t think he even knows what happened.”</p><p>“You’d be surprised. Dogs are rather perceptive.”</p><p>Nathaniel nearly snorts and fights the urge to roll his eyes. He’s sure they are, but not in the way she’s making it seem. Nathaniel’s <em>fine</em>. There’s nothing for the dog to pick up on—nothing that it can pick up on because it’s <em>a dog</em>. </p><p>Nathaniel doesn’t realize that he had stopped petting Wookiee until the dog raises his head and whines at the redhead. The frown on his mouth softens and slowly disappears. He goes back to petting the needy beast. Earlier, when the dog climbed up and collapsed on top of Nathaniel, the redhead had told Betsy it was okay when she went to remove Wookiee because the extra harmless weight after all the running was nice. </p><p>“I think this is more about him wanting attention rather than him…<em>comforting me</em> or whatever it is you think he’s doing by smushing me.”</p><p>Betsy nods. “Or he could be doing both.”</p><p>“He’s not,” Nathaniel is quick to say, “doing both.”</p><p>“Do you not feel better with him on your lap. I can bring him to the other room?”</p><p>“No. It’s fine…it is nice,” Nathaniel ends up saying, and therefore contradicting himself. Damn these stupid shrink sessions. </p><p>“I’m glad,” Betsy says. “And other than internal emotions and turmoil to be comforted, there are also external issues, as well.”</p><p>Nathaniel grimaces. “If you wanted to ask about the handprints on my neck, you could’ve just come out and asked it directly.”</p><p>Despite Nathaniel’s rather biting tone, Betsy doesn’t flinch—<em>she never does</em> and it never fails to annoy Nathaniel. These psychiatrists analyze people’s emotions for a living, yet they don’t seem to have any of their own. </p><p>“I was referring to your outward response to food. Wymack told me about what happened last night. But we can talk about the marks, as well, if you’d like.”</p><p>“I don’t,” Nathaniel says shortly, his throat suddenly dry. “I don’t really want to talk about either of those things.”</p><p>“Is there a reason why you don’t want to talk about those things?”</p><p>“Yes,” Nathaniel snorts. “Of course there’s a reason.”</p><p>“But you don’t want to share it with me,” Betsy finishes. She doesn’t sound upset. </p><p>“No,” Nathaniel mutters as he continues to run his fingers up and down Wookiee’s back. </p><p>“Because you don’t trust me,” Betsy adds on once again. </p><p>Nathaniel just snorts. </p><p>“Would you say trust is a tricky subject for you?” It’s a leading question. </p><p>“It’s a <em>scarce</em> subject for me,” he drawls, leaning his head back against the couch cushions and staring at the popcorn ceiling. </p><p>Nathaniel doesn’t trust her. Though, to be fair, he has only a few examples of what true trust looks like. He trusts Jean. He trusted his mother. That is the extent of trust for him. And neither of those situations turned out well. His mother was dead and Jean would probably be better off dead. Nathaniel hated the thought—hated that he wasn’t there with jean—hated that Jean was left alone with only the pills. </p><p><em>Hang in there, Jean</em>, Nathaniel pleads. <em>I’ll think of something. Just wait for me.</em></p><p>Betsy doesn’t push him anymore on that topic but instead takes a different approach that annoys him all the same. </p><p>“Well, is there anything you would want to talk about?”</p><p>“Not really!” Nathaniel bursts out, his irritation at its peak for the day, the week, the eternity of his life. “I’m tired of everything being on me and about me. How about we talk about you! How would you like that?”</p><p>Wookiee whines in his lap and Nathaniel then realizes he has raised his voice. He freezes and shrinks back against the cushions. He doesn’t apologize for the words, though. He meant it. Betsy, though, hardly takes any offense. She takes his outburst with a measured sort of calculation, which makes him even angrier because she’s still reacting as a psychiatrist, and shouldn’t <em>she</em> be upset with <em>him</em> for his words?</p><p>“Okay,” she finally says, “We can talk about me if you’d like.”</p><p>Nathaniel is getting real tired of that saying. <em>"If you’d like"</em>—there’s a lot of things Nathaniel <em>would like</em>. Most, if not all, of those things aren’t possible, so he goes through the world dealing with things he doesn’t like but trying to make it seem less horrible. He <em>doesn’t</em> want to talk about Betsy. He’s not interested in hearing anything or saying anything. He just wants to leave. </p><p>“I think it might encourage you to open up a bit.”</p><p><em>Doubtful</em>, Nathaniel thinks. He turns his head so he’s no longer looking at her but instead is staring at Wookiee’s back as it steadily rises. </p><p>“Well, my name is Betsy Dobson, as you know. I’m 46 years old. I’m a licensed psychiatrist. I have been for nearly twenty years. I used to work in the juvie system, but I transferred here a few years ago. I actually went to school with Abby, so she introduced me to Wymack and that’s how I ended up here. I have a younger sister who has two kids. I got Wookiee about two years ago from the shelter. I love sweets and hot cocoa. I also love cooking, but I’m not as good as my sister. I have OCD and I was in an abusive relationship that ended about ten years ago that permanently messed up my back, so I feel twenty years old than I actually am sometimes.”</p><p>She lets out a soft laugh and Nathaniel just stares—at the dog, not her because he can’t bring himself to lift his eyes. </p><p>“I’m sharing this with you because this is something I came to terms with years ago. I was in denial for a long time. I was a licensed psychiatrist already when I met him. I was meeting with others and talking with them and helping them through their issues when I couldn’t even see or acknowledge the issue in my own life. Some people might think it was hypocritical, but that involved a certain level of acceptance of my circumstance that I didn’t have yet. He was nice a lot of the time. And abuse can go further than just physical violence, and that’s the point we were at for the majority of our relationship.</p><p>“After about two years together—we were living together at this point—he started to get physically violent. It started off with small shoves whenever he got annoyed and it escalated—as everything does in these situations. I had friends—Abby included—who asked me what was wrong when I sounded off or showed up with bruises, and I denied it for the longest time because I thought he loved me and it was something I was doing that was the issue. And honestly, it was easier to stay.”</p><p>
  <em>Is that what my mom thought? And then once she saw me after my father dragged me to the basement that one time, then she decided running was worth it? It was dangerous—running—and look where that got here. She wasn’t even buried properly. Her ashes are probably still spread across some cornfield.</em>
</p><p>“I was with him for nearly four years. I finally spoke up—I told Abby after he pushed me down the stairs and I ended up in the hospital. I couldn’t lie anymore and I finally hit that point where I feared for my life more than I feared him. It was still messy. It took a while, but we got the police and the courts involved and he was arrested. Now I have a restraining order against him, but he’s never shown me any trouble after we split. For something so…heavy for me, it appeared as if it was nothing for him.</p><p>“At the time, I was already going to therapy for my OCD. I had to go to physical therapy for my back after that, too. I ended up opening up and talking about my relationship with him with my own therapist. It took years, but I, uh, was able to right everything in my mind about the situation. He was abusive and I didn’t want to say anything. Part of me was scared, yes, but I also was in a dark place at the time and I didn’t think I deserved the get out and get the help I needed.”</p><p>Betsy pauses and looks at Nathaniel more clearly. “I’m not saying this to try and convince you to open up to me because I understand—really, I do—that it’s more complicated than just opening your mouth and letting it out. But I do think sharing this—my story—with you will help you understand that <em>I understand</em>, or will try to. Everyone’s situation is different, of course. And Nathaniel...”</p><p>Her gaze lowers slightly as she leans forward. He’s clearly looking at her now. Her eyes are different than usual. He knows she’s looking at his neck. “Because of my line of work and my past, I know that some marks are too cruel to be left behind by anyone other than those who have a personal sort of aversion towards you.”</p><p>Nathaniel swallows the lump in his throat and fights the urge to raise his hands to touch his neck, his knee, all the other places he’s been left bruised and bleeding by those who only wish harm onto him—his father, Lola, Riko, Ichirou, The Master, Sasha, <em>everyone</em>. </p><p>“I’d like to be done now,” he says quietly. </p><p>She doesn’t argue with him, she just nods and gets up to go into the kitchen. Nathaniel stays on the couch. He doesn’t want to move—not at this exact moment—and Wookiee’s weight is pinning him down. Thankfully, Wymack shows up rather quickly. Nathaniel doesn’t know if it was just good timing or if Betsy called him. Regardless, he gently moves Wookiee off of his lap and turns to Betsy. She looks the same as always, smiling gently and politely. His lips freeze around unknown words. He snaps his mouth shut and nods as he passes her and heads out the door towards Wymack’s truck.</p><p>What was he going to say? <em>Thank you? I’m sorry? Bye? See you next time?</em></p><p>When Nathaniel climbs into the truck, Wymack doesn’t ask about the meeting with Betsy. He never does, which is…nice, Nathaniel supposes. Instead, he says, “Before we go to the stadium, we’re making another stop.”</p><p>“You didn’t say that earlier,” Nathaniel protests, sounding—admittedly—very childish. </p><p>“Well, if you finally want some clothes that actually fit you, we’re going to have to make that stop,” Wymack fires back, his voice oddly calm in lieu of Nathaniel’s petulant tone. Something tells Nathaniel Wymack is used to this sort of thing, though. He coaches the Foxes for a living, after all. </p><p>Wymack drives them to a nearby retailer that’s surprisingly not that busy for it being the afternoon during summer vacation. Nathaniel is secretly grateful for the lack of people, though. The mens’ clothing section is easy enough to find inside. Wymack tells Nathaniel to grab an assortment of clothing. </p><p>“My stuff doesn’t fit you for shit,” he says, “And I’m getting tired of lending stuff out. If you’re going to be staying here for a while, you’ll need your own stuff.”</p><p>That shouldn’t send Nathaniel spiraling into a panic because he <em>knows</em> he’s going to be staying in Palmetto for <em>months</em>. And logically…he would need clothes and hygiene products and…<em>fuck</em>—a laptop for school. But the thought of <em>buying</em> all those things that would weigh him down, leave a mark—so to speak—a clear sign that he was here and comfortable and <em>living</em>. </p><p>It doesn’t make sense to others maybe, but to him, belongings are a sign of something he can’t have—can <em>never</em> have. He doesn’t want to develop any more of that false sense of hope—not with how much he’s already cultivated and holds. He didn’t even he had done so until his meeting with Ichirou. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” Wymack asks abruptly. “You look as if you’re about to break down in the middle of the store.”</p><p>
  <em>You’re not that far off.</em>
</p><p>“Hey, it’s just clothes.”</p><p>“It’s <em>not</em> just clothes,” Nathaniel hisses back through gritted teeth. He doesn’t have to explain himself any further. Wymack, he thinks, understands. He’s dealt with rag-tag youth and their <em>oh-so-tragic backgrounds.</em></p><p>“This shit? The stuff we’re getting you today is cheap as hell. Kevin spends more on a pair of court shoes. Don’t worry about it, Nathaniel.”</p><p>“But—“</p><p>“Just grab some stuff. Whatever you like at first glance and we’ll deal with everything from there.”</p><p>Nathaniel stares at what seems to be rows and rows of endless racks. “Where do I start?”</p><p>“Anywhere you want,” Wymacks snorts. “Let’s create a checklist: shirts, jacket, jeans, shorts, socks, underwear, shoes. Go get it.”</p><p>Wymack wanders off and looks around himself. He sticks close, however. Always within Nathaniel’s sight. The redhead doesn’t know if the Foxes coach is looking for himself or Nathaniel—or if he’s looking at all. After a few minutes of just standing and staring, however, Nathaniel assumes he should probably get going and look at what all there is. </p><p>Saying this is no big deal goes against all of his screaming instincts that have been built up from years on the run, but he tries to smother those alarms by telling himself that the sooner they finish here, the sooner he gets to go to the court. </p><p>But as soon as he begins searching, he realizes that he doesn’t know his size. He can’t remember the last time he had to buy clothes for himself. His mother or…someone else at The Nest always took care of picking out his clothing. He never cared enough to shop for himself—not that he would’ve been allowed to anyways—in either situation. </p><p>Wymack must’ve noticed his hesitation because he comes back and says, “What’s the hold-up?”</p><p>“I don’t know my size.”</p><p>“Well, then just pick a few and take the items to the fitting room to try on.”</p><p>So, that’s what Nathaniel does. Wymack points him in the direction of the changing rooms. Nathaniel proceeds to lock himself in one and then just stare at himself in the mirror. Since initially arriving in Palmetto, he’s avoiding looking at his own reflection. He’s looked at his face periodically, but as for his body…</p><p>Nathaniel pulls at the XL shirt he’s currently wearing. His body is practically invisible underneath all the fabric. While wearing Wymack’s clothing, he constantly had to be aware of how he was moving just in case the huge collar ever shifted in such a way that the scars on his upper chest or shoulders were visible. The pants—also Wymack’s—are being supported by one of the coach's belts. The belt is also too big, so Wymack had to take a drill to make extra holes so that the best could be properly secured around Nathaniel’s narrow waist. </p><p>He takes a deep breath and pulls the shirt over his head. Without looking in the mirror at all, he quickly alternates between all the articles of clothing he brought in with him. He slides on one of the shirts and decides it fits enough. He’s always liked his shirts a bit loose. It’s more comfortable and if he’s lucky, maybe he’ll get lost in the fabric. Looser shirts allow him to hide his scars, too. As for the bottoms…the third pair he tries on seems to fit the best. He checks the sizes and stores them away in his head. He goes to leave the fitting room but stops and looks at his reflection once again. </p><p>Before he can think much about it, he slowly slides his hand up and lifts the shirt. Only his side and his stomach is exposed. His fingers trace over the ridges of his visible ribs; they dip and curve with the bones that push against his tight skin. The contrast of the scars provides some…texture, as well. It’s ugly—the lighter olive of his skin and the white and red scars and the small bruise from the cut. <em>He’s</em> ugly. </p><p><em>"You look so sickly, Nathaniel,"</em> Riko would sneer, his claws tracing over Nathaniel’s slick skin. <em>"You should eat more."</em></p><p>It was a joke. Nathaniel didn’t eat a lot, in part because Riko had a nasty habit of drugging his food. </p><p>Nathaniel’s fingers shift to the front of his abdomen where it concaves inward.</p><p>Sasha commented on his figure, as well. Though, it never stopped him. He would order fancy foods and drinks—anything Nathaniel listed. None of it, however, was appetizing to him. </p><p>Nathaniel drops the edge of his shirt and strides out of the fitting room. He bypasses Wymack and returns all the incorrect sizes to the racks. He’s quick and barely thinking and he chooses an array of clothing in his size—everything on Wymack’s verbal list. They stop by the shoe section to get him a nice pair of sneakers—“So you can go running, if you want,” Wymack adds. The sentiment is appreciated—really—but Nathaniel can’t find himself to care much at the moment. </p><p>The two of them quickly check out and head back to the truck. Nathaniel tries not to pay attention to the total, but he still hears it and nearly balks. He keeps his head down and his mouth closed, but the guilt swirls deep. Wymack speaks up once they leave the store parking lot. </p><p>“Listen…if it’s the money thing, it’s really not a problem.”</p><p>“It’s—that’s not all of it, but I don’t like—” Nathaniel chews on his lip as he thinks about how the explain the complex thought process his mind seems to go through at the most trivial of things. They hadn't even bought a laptop yet—just clothes. He was going to wait before bringing that up because he doesn't think <em>he</em> could handle that right now. “You shouldn’t have to spend money on me.”</p><p>
  <em>Not when I’m not a Fox. Not when I’ll only be here for a few months and then you’ll never see me again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Not when I’m using you.</em>
</p><p>The last thought hurts because <em>he doesn’t want to be using him</em>—or <em>any of them</em>. He feels like scum. Inside and out. </p><p>“I don’t <em>have</em> to do anything. I want to,” Wymack responds, his voice strong and sure. “Fox or not. And I meant what I said before. You could be one of us if you wanted. As far as I’m concerned, you already are.”</p><p>Nathaniel doesn’t correct him. He sinks into his seat and lets the despair consume him because does he dare feel a bit of hope that rises up at that statement? No. No, surely not. </p><p>He sweats out all of his overflowing thoughts on the court and pushes himself until his brain is too exhausted to think about anything else. </p><p>*****</p><p>Nathaniel’s skin is too tight. It’s ripping at the seams and he feels as if his very being is going to burst out. He’s felt like this before and he thought it was due to a lack of movement, but he’s been going to the court nearly every day for hours while Wymack does paperwork. He’s even convinced the Foxes coach to let him go on runs. They’re short and the coach times him to make sure he’s back at a set time. Nathaniel abides by Wymack’s requests because he knows he’s been pushing it lately. So, the runs are short, but they still do help. </p><p>The court and the drives and the runs help for a bit, but soon the tight, suffocating, stretching feeling returns and he needs something he can’t name. He’s hot and cold and feels small and too big in his own skin. </p><p>Wymack is in his office working. Nathaniel doesn’t want to bother him, so he decides to just take a shower. He’ll decide if he’ll turn the water hot or cold when he climbs in. </p><p>The water doesn’t help. It just further agitates him. It makes his skin even tighter and more tingling. His gut feels heavy despite his stomach being empty. He shoves his hands up his face and pushes his wet strands back out of his face. He tilts his head back and breathes in the humid air in the bathroom. Maybe that’ll clear his head. </p><p>It doesn’t. </p><p>He doesn’t know how long he stands in the shower, but the water eventually turns cold. He shrivels in on himself and rests his forehead against the shower wall. His skin is crawling again—even <em>worse</em> than before. He’s feeling things—<em>parts</em>—that don’t belong to him on his body. He knows it’s not real. Just <em>very real</em> remnants of his past. </p><p>It’s just figments of his imagination. It both disgusts him and makes him squirm. He doesn’t know what he needs. But <em>this</em>…he should hate it. Should <em>have</em> hated it. </p><p><em>"Let’s try something,"</em> an achingly familiar voice whispers in his ear. </p><p>“I hate you,” Nathaniel says. It was spoken with barely any conviction. </p><p>
  <em>I hate myself.</em>
</p><p>“I hate you,” he cries out between clenched teeth. He presses his head against the tile of the shower. He pushes and pushes and pushes as if he can push the memories out, but Nathaniel still feels the hands maneuvering him and the voice coaxing him. </p><p>
  <em>"You’ll like it."</em>
</p><p>And he did. He <em>did</em> like it and he hates himself more because of it. </p><p>His hand leaves the cool wall and touches his stomach. His skin is burning to the touch, despite the ice-cold water spraying down on him. Nathaniel feels a hand tug on the strands of his hair. </p><p>
  <em>"You can do it."</em>
</p><p>His hand trembles as he slowly slides it down. A silent gasp escapes his lips as his hand grabs hold and <em>he truly despises himself.</em></p><p>He moves his hand and closes his eyes and thinks of another time and place. While he’s in the shower, more than just water washes down the drain. He feels better afterward, but that’s because he doesn’t necessarily feel anything at all. </p><p>*****</p><p>The next time Wymack plans to take him to the court, he asks if it’s okay if the other boys are there, too. Nathaniel’s surprised the Foxes coach would be okay with Nathaniel intermingling with them, especially after the effort he seemed to put in to keep Andrew <em>away from</em> Nathaniel. Although, the question makes sense. Wymack can’t keep them away from Nathaniel forever, nor can he keep Nathaniel away from them. Plus, Wymack likely has no desire in being a prolonged babysitter to a bunch of teenagers. Nathaniel will have to learn to deal with them eventually, sooner rather than later with the task Ichirou gave him.</p><p>And Nathaniel hasn’t forgotten about Andrew’s little comment in Abby’s bathroom the other day either—about going to Columbia. Nathaniel has no fucking idea what that’s supposed to mean, but he figures he might as well face the monster now rather than later. After all, Andrew can’t be worse than the monsters he’s already faced. </p><p>When he shows up to the stadium and walks into the court all suited up, the four resident Foxes are already on the court—well, no; <em>three</em> of them are. Kevin, Nicky, and Aaron all pause when Nathaniel walks in. Nicky appears happy to see him; Aaron appears annoyed; Kevin appears…almost excited? </p><p>Nathaniel pointedly ignores that and looks for the fourth one of them. He spots him almost immediately. Andrew is laying on his back on one of the team benches. He’s tossing an Exy ball up in the air and catching it. He does it over and over again, even as Nathaniel walks by him. </p><p>“Look who decided to show up to the party,” Andrew laughs, so, medicated again. </p><p>“This doesn’t look like much of a party,” Nathaniel comments. Kevin went back to barking at Nicky and Aaron, the latter of which is steadily ignoring the striker. Andrew looks more interested in the patterns on the ball than he does with playing Exy. Nathaniel heard about Andrew’s reluctance to get on the court, but he didn’t really believe that someone could be as good as Andrew without any practice. </p><p>"Well, I'm sitting out because I don't want things to get <em>too</em> exciting."</p><p>"I'm sure," Nathaniel responds flatly. </p><p>Andrew laughs and stops tossing the ball. He swings up on the bench. His hair is sticking up in all which directions. “Sorry, this doesn't live up to your standards, sir Raven. Raincheck then. Until this weekend. Columbia. You haven’t forgotten, have you, Nathaniel?” He’s practically singing by the end. </p><p>Nathaniel’s mouth flattens and he pushes open the door to step out onto the court. “No. I haven’t forgotten.”</p><p>Andrew’s grin widens and he plops back down on the bench. His legs swing up slightly with his momentum before falling back to the ground. “Great! Friday, then. I’m really looking forward to our chat, Nate.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*exhales* well, that's that. This chapter was very heavy on some dark themes. These are all issues I knew Nathaniel was going to have from the beginning of writing this fic. They just all happened to unravel and be discussed in this one chapter. They will continue to be mentioned and explored later on, as well, as Nathaniel faces his trauma. Remember, the first step to healing is acknowledging. I know it's dark, but it gets better! (I keep promising that and then release a chapter like this, but I really do promise)</p><p>The next chapter is the Columbia cha[ter, though, sooooo not great, no, but we're <em>slowly</em> getting there. If you wanna chat about this chapter or the themes or the story in general, feel free to comment or message me on Twitter. </p><p>Other than that, thank you sm for reading! I hope you liked it. Feel free to leave a kudos, comment, bookmark, follow me on <a href="https://twitter.com/emptyambrosia">Twitter</a>, etc. Love yall and hope you have a great Christmas &lt;3</p><p>- Orth</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Slipping Under The Lights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Friday rolls around, the itching and stirring feeling is back. He fidgets more than normal while walking around Wymack’s apartment. If the coach notices it, he doesn’t say anything and for that, Nathaniel is thankful. He doesn’t know what he would say if Wymack <em>did</em> point it out because frankly, Nathaniel himself didn’t even know what the hell is the cause of this creeping feeling. </p><p>Once the day passes over from afternoon to evening, Nathaniel reluctantly grabs the plastic bag Andrew threw at him the other day when they were at the court together and heads into the bathroom. Ever since Nathaniel’s initial “practice” with Kevin and his groupies, Wymack’s been bringing him back to the court while the others are there too. Nathaniel doesn’t know if the reasoning behind the reoccurring practicing has to do with ease on Wymack’s part or if he’s trying to get Nathaniel to be more comfortable with the Foxes, in hopes that Nathaniel himself will eventually become one. The redhead, being the paranoid person he is, thinks the latter is more likely. </p><p>Nathaniel gently shuts the bathroom door behind him. He has yet told Wymack about the invitation he received a few days ago. The redhead has told himself that it’s not a big deal anyway, so telling Wymack right before he walks out of the door shouldn’t be a big deal either…right? </p><p>The redhead sighs and looks into the mirror—looks at the growing bags under his eyes, his sunken cheeks, his chapped lips. </p><p>
  <em>Nothing’s ever that simple. You should know that by now.</em>
</p><p>He drops the bag on the counter and begins to sift through its contents. He hadn’t so much as glanced at it since Andrew shoved it at him. Looking at the items now, he wishes he would’ve peeked in the bag earlier. Then he could’ve prepared himself for the clothing Andrew chose for him. He also would’ve had more time to think of a way to make these clothes appear…less exposing. Nathaniel supposes the outfit isn’t <em>completely</em> horrible. It consists of skin-tight skinny black skinny jeans with rips up and down the front. He’s more concerned with the shirt. Like the pants, it appears to be skin-tight and there are rips throughout the fabric with black sheer material underneath. His scars would show…at least it is long-sleeved, he supposes…</p><p>Though, deep down, Nathaniel pinpoints what’s really bothering him. The act of it all—dressing him up—it makes him sick. Andrew and the others aren’t the first people to throw revealing, tight clothing at him. Nathaniel looks in the bag again. Well, no makeup with them. Guess they prefer him all-natural. </p><p>When he looks back up at the mirror, he finds a twisted sneer on his face. He tries to smooth it out, but he can’t decide if the expression under the sneer is worse—the disappointment and emptiness. So, he looks away and immediately begins to change into the clothes. </p><p>Once completely changed, he looks down at himself. It took much too long to get into the clothes. And they feel just as constricting as they looked. Though, this time, his hair is down in its usual style. His eyes aren’t lined with kohl. No concealer either. </p><p>Voices coming from the front of the apartment snap him out of his slowly mounting mental breakdown. <em>Voices</em>. As in more than one. Nathaniel is two steps out of the bathroom when he recognizes that second voice as Andrew’s. </p><p>“—not taking him there, Andrew!”</p><p>“<em>Relax</em>, coach. We won’t damage the merchandise. Pinky promise.”</p><p>Nathaniel flinches but keeps walking towards the main room. </p><p>“I don’t give a rat’s ass about your promises. You’re not roping him into this,<em>especially</em> not now,” Nathaniel hears Wymack growl.</p><p>“Why not?” Andrew responds flatly. “I thought you wanted us to do some team-bonding exercises, coach.”</p><p>At that moment, Nathaniel decides to step out of the hall shadows. Andrew spots him almost immediately. </p><p>“Nathaniel. Tell mother everything’s alright and we’ll have you back spick and span before curfew.”</p><p>“Andrew—!”</p><p>“It’s fine, coach,” Nathaniel utters, stepping up beside the two of them—still arms’ reach away, of course. He’s gotten more used to being around them all, especially Wymack, but things were off tonight. Nathaniel feels like the world is tilted a few degrees clockwise and he can’t quite figure out how to make anything right again. He shakes off his nerves and the tingles—they come right back—and looks at Andrew. “You have shoes for me?”</p><p>Andrew jerks his chin to the right. Nathaniel assumes that means something like ‘out there.’ He internally sighs but begins to walk out of the apartment, dressed as he is and barefoot. </p><p>“Now just wait a minute,” Wyamck grumbles as Nathaniel makes a move to maneuver around him. “Nathaniel, you don’t have to go—disregard whatever Minyard told you.”</p><p>“I’m hurt,” Andrews drawls. </p><p>Nathaniel <em>does</em> have to go. And he knows Andrew shares the same sentiment. However, their reasoning is likely to be drastically different. Nathaniel knows this is a test; Andrew is scoping him out—and Nathaniel doesn’t doubt that Andrew will do what he deems necessary to eliminate whatever threat Nathaniel may pose to the others. Nathaniel knows this because he’s done the same with others at The Nest when it comes to protecting himself and Jean. And with this night out, Nathaniel is also using it as an opportunity to observe Andrew. The redhead knows he’s the one to look out for. Nathaniel’s actually uncomfortable with how often he’s <em>unable</em> to read Andrew. He needs to figure them out—especially Andrew—if he wants to be able to stay. He has no other option. Ichirou gave him an end goal with no clear instruction. </p><p>He gauges Andrew in the doorway. The blond stares right back at him, his eyes blank, devoid of the usual mania that resides there. </p><p>“I’ll be back tomorrow morning,” he tells Wymack as he finishes walking past him. His muscles tense up as he passes the coach, half-expecting the man to grab him. Wymack doesn’t and Andrew doesn’t either. The blond spins around as Nathaniel walks past him. The redhead halts until Andrew is half-a-step in front of him.</p><p>“Minyard!” Wymack barks as the two of them head down the hall. “If you think you can pull any funny business, it’s not only your contract on the line.”</p><p>Nathaniel sees Andrew roll his eyes. “Ye of little faith, coach.”</p><p>They take the elevator. Nathaniel would’ve preferred the stairs, but he thinks Andrew might’ve known that and so that’s why he chose the elevator. So, Nathaniel can’t resist the temptation to open his mouth and say something to gain some leverage in the situation. </p><p>“Am I dressed up enough for you, sir?” Nathaniel nearly sneers, feeling dirty as the words leave his mouth. The filthy feeling tingles up his spine and disperses throughout the rest of his body. He clenches his palms, hiding away the feeling so the rest of the world can’t see, but he still thinks Andrew does. The blond looks at him with an unusually flat gaze from across the elevator. He’s off his meds again. Nathaniel certainly hopes he doesn’t make a habit of it.</p><p>Andrew pushes himself off the wall and takes the few steps needed to cross the elevator. The blond’s boots step on the tips of Nathaniel’s bare toes with how close he is. </p><p>“Is that the kind of night you think this is going to be?” Andrew asks. </p><p>Nathaniel senses the underlying question: <em>Is this what you’re used to?</em></p><p>He mentally curses himself when he realizes he’s, yet again, revealed something about himself and his past by letting the bitterness burst out. His mother would be disappointed—livid, really—but she’s not here. Nathaniel knows how tonight is going to go—to some extent. It might not go exactly how he made it sound, but he knows Andrew is going to try to pick him apart piece by piece, starting with the comment he just made. Nathaniel might as well lay all his cards down on the table. Strategically, of course. </p><p>“I’m sure it doesn’t matter what I think, right? You have your own plan for how this night is going to go.”</p><p>Not that Nathaniel will let the night go just as Andrew wishes. </p><p>“You know each time you open your mouth, I understand more and more why the Ravens sent you away.”</p><p>“And that’s what you plan on doing?—sending me off, that is?” </p><p>“Or get rid of you some other way. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”</p><p>Nathaniel can only guess what <em>some other way</em> means. Andrews continues to stare him down unflinchingly. </p><p>“But let's get one thing straight,” Andrew says. “If you direct that word ‘sir’ towards me ever again, I will stab and dispose of you. I don’t want to hear it. That kind of shit doesn’t get me off.”</p><p>The thought <em>‘so what does?’</em> comes across Nathaniel’s mind before he can help himself. He’s startled by its appearance. </p><p>Andrew steps away and a moment later the elevator doors open. The blond steps right out, while the redhead takes a moment or two longer than necessary to pick his feet up and follow Andrew. </p><p>Pulled up to the front door of Wymack’s apartment building is the same black car he saw at Abby’s. Andrew opens the door to the backseat and waits. Nathaniel takes that as his cue to slide in. Aaron gives him another disinterested look and moves closer to the window. Fine with him. Andrew gets in after him and also makes an effort to keep his distance. </p><p>“Hi, Nathaniel! Do you like the clothes? You look great in them. The boots are back there for you, by the way. I thought you would, which is why—“</p><p>“Nicky,” Kevin cuts in, sounding almost pained as he currently curls in on himself in the passenger seat, “start driving.”</p><p><em>Of course</em>, Nathaniel thinks, <em>Nicky picked out the outfit. Makes sense.</em></p><p>“Geez, Kevin. Eden’s won’t run out of alcohol if we sit around for five extra minutes. You that eager to start drinking?”</p><p>No answer is answer enough. Nathaniel nearly rolls his eyes as he shoves the boots onto his feet. He doesn’t understand why Kevin latches onto alcohol and chooses for that to be his escape, not when it’s something Nathaniel despises so much. He wouldn’t hesitate to say Kevin’s alcohol reliance is past the point of being voluntary. Nathaniel had called him an alcoholic once to his face at The Nest. Kevin had snapped at him and was rather nasty the next time Riko decided to prey upon Nathaniel. Hiding behind Riko’s actions but gaining from them is the most Kevin-like thing. </p><p>The drive to Columbia is long—or rather, it feels long. Nathaniel keeps an eye on the clock and, in actuality, it only takes about an hour or so to get to the restaurant they stop at in Columbia called <em>Sweetie’s.</em></p><p>During the entire ride there, however, Nathaniel is hunching in on himself. Aaron and Andrew keep their distance. The latter actually leans against the window and begins to drift off, which Nathaniel finds surprising. The act makes more sense whenever Nicky asks for the exit and Aaron tells Nathaniel to nudge Andrew awake. Nathaniel ignores him to be spiteful but also because the redhead wouldn’t like someone touching him in his sleep. In fact, Nathaniel doesn’t feel like touching anyone or anything. The part of his skin that’s touching the leather seats crawls and tingles and stretches across the muscles underneath. Aaron just rolls his eyes and yells at Andrew. His twin jerks awake swinging. Nathaniel has nowhere to move and gets elbowed in the stomach. Andrew hits the mark, right where the healing knife cut is. The strike knocks the breath out of him, but no one in the car comments on it. Nathaniel grits his teeth and stares at the flooring of the car from his hunched-over position. </p><p>Less than five minutes later, when Andrew demands Nicky pull over to the side of the road and then promptly throws up in the grass after shoving his way out of the car, that’s when it clicks for Nathaniel. He should’ve noticed it earlier. It’s common sense, really. Andrew is going through withdrawal since he’s off his meds. As Andrew climbs back into the car, sweating and pale and trembling, Nathaniel wonders why the blond even bothers going off them at all if this is what he has to go through every time. Not to mention he’s breaking the law each time he does so. </p><p>Andrew’s looking worse for wear when they arrive at the restaurant. The trembling has increased and he’s lost most of the color in his skin. Nicky and Kevin keep sparing him concerned looks, but Andrew pushes forward. His breaths come out harshly between clenched teeth. Nathaniel notices the blond’s hands keep clenching and unclenching. Andrew snags several packages of crackers from the salad bar as the waitress leads them to their table. Nathaniel trails behind the group, as per usual. The <em>filth</em> that seems to be littered across his skin has spread. His mind once again betrays him by reminding him of the fact that Sasha too used to wine and dine him before they retired for the night. The redhead fought off a shiver. </p><p><em>This is different</em>, he tells himself. The restaurant is certainly a different scene than the places Sasha would take him. Very…homey? No…normal? </p><p>“Here you are!” The peppy waitress says. Nathaniel looks at the booth and feels his heart rate increase. It’s very noisy in here. “I can get y’all something to drink now if you're ready.”</p><p>The booth is U-shaped. Nathaniel does not want to be stuck in the middle, but Andrew doesn’t give. So, after standing there for an abnormal amount of time, Nathaniel finally slides into the booth. He does so slowly and stiffly. The good news is that the booth is spacey, leaving him several inches away from Andrew and Nicky, who sits on the other side of him. </p><p>“Can we have an ice cream special?” Nicky asks as they all get situated. The waitress gives him a quick nod.</p><p>Not a moment later, Andrew reaches out and stuffs the empty cracker packages into the pockets of her apron with shaking hands. Nathaniel finds the act rather rude, but the waitress barely even bats her eyes at it. Nathaniel looks around the table and none of the others seem to find anything out of place. </p><p>They all order their drinks. Nathaniel just gets a water because the others—mostly Nicky—won’t allow him to <em>not</em> get one. </p><p>“We come to Sweetie’s every time we go to Columbia. It’s kind of the appetizer to the main course, which is Eden’s, obviously. But this place has great people and great food,” Nicky explains, leaning over as if to whisper the words, but he speaks at full volume.  </p><p>Nathaniel stays angled away. The food metaphor—no, he doesn’t like it. Nicky, though, doesn’t seem to notice Nathaniel’s distaste and presses on. </p><p> “Soooo, Nathaniel…would you say you’re more of a party-goer—“</p><p>“Jesus,” Aaron all but snarls as he rolls his eyes from his place on the other side of Nicky. </p><p>“What?” His cousin squawks, looking over at the blond. “I’m trying to get to know him better. That <em>is</em> why we invited him with us.”</p><p>Now Nathaniel fights the urge to roll his eyes. </p><p>“He’s underage,” Aaron grunts, still looking irritated with the whole matter. </p><p>“I know that!” Nicky gasps. “I wasn’t trying to pick him up!”</p><p>Aaron snorts as his gaze sweeps across the far side of the restaurant, clearly letting Nicky know how much he believed those words. </p><p>“I wasn’t!” Nicky says, this time looking back towards Nathaniel. He locks eyes with the redhead. “I wouldn’t try it. You know, maybe if you were older and didn’t—well, we had a different first meeting then—“</p><p>“I have to go to the bathroom,” Nathaniel interjects, looking at Andrew to the left of him expectantly. The blond stares back—eyes crazed and skin pallid—before getting up from the booth and letting Nathaniel slide out and disappear into the bathroom. </p><p>“Andrew! What if he disappears again!” Nathaniel hears Aaron hiss this to his twin, but no one comes after him. </p><p>Once the redhead finds the men’s room, he practically falls against the door to push his way inside. After doing a quick scan, Nathaniel’s relieved to find that he’s alone. Some sort of pop song plays overhead. He walks over to the sink and looks at his reflection in the mirror. </p><p>
  <em>Face your fears, Nathaniel. Look in the mirror. This is who you are.</em>
</p><p>He turns on the sink and wets his hands with the ice-cold water. It feels nice against his burning skin. He pats his wet hands on his neck, his face, his sides. It helps some, but the fiery bubbling feeling is still right under the surface. Maybe it’s a good thing—it’s keeping him alert and on his toes. He needs to be for tonight. </p><p>When he arrives back at their table a few minutes later, everyone has their drinks. A giant dish of ice cream is also present. Andrew seems to claim it all for himself, which is fine by Nathaniel. The thought of consuming any amount of ice cream makes his stomach churn. In the middle of the table is a giant pile of napkins. Nicky tells him that since he was in the bathroom when the waitress came, Kevin just ordered something for him. </p><p>Nathaniel’s gaze shoots to Kevin. The striker’s eyes are already on him. The redhead immediately looks away and swallows the lump in his throat. He takes his spot in the booth back. This isn’t the Nest. He doesn’t have to thank Kevin for those things anymore. </p><p>When the food does arrive, he sees that Kevin ordered him a salad. Kevin ordered the same salad for himself. Nathaniel doesn’t immediately begin to dig in as everyone else does. Objectively, the salad looks appetizing, but he makes no move to grab the silverware. It, of course, only takes Kevin a few beats before he’s speaking up—in French. </p><p>“You should eat your salad,” he says. The other three look up when they hear the foreign words. </p><p>
  <em>You should mind your own fucking business.</em>
</p><p>“I’m not hungry,” Nathaniel says back in French. </p><p>Kevin’s brows furrow. “Stop being childish. Eat the food.”</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Nathaniel snaps. “We’re not at The Nest, so I don’t have to follow your orders anymore.”</p><p>Kevin flinches as if Nathaniel’s physically struck him. “I’m not <em>ordering</em> you to do anything. If you want to keep up your strength—“</p><p>“You’ve never cared about what’s good for me before, so stop pretending like you do now,” Nathaniel spits. His hand has begun to gravitate towards the top of the table, reaching for the knife that lays to the right of his salad. </p><p>“None of that.” Andrew pauses from eating his giant bowl of ice cream and holds up his spoon, pointing it at Kevin. His eyes, though, are looking at Nathaniel. He’s not as unhinged as he was earlier. He looks better. “It’s not very nice to have a conversation others can’t understand.”</p><p><em>Hypocrite</em>, Nathaniel thinks, his upper lip curling. He turns back towards the salad and grips the knife. Nathaniel’s other hand clenches under the table as he thinks about how Riko didn’t like people speaking in languages he didn’t understand. It was always Japanese or English at The Nest. </p><p>“Not going to say anything? You had so much to say just a moment ago.” When Nathaniel doesn’t say anything to that, Andrew turns to the striker. “Kevin?”</p><p>And like the coward he is, Kevin says, “He’s not eating.”</p><p>Nathaniel glares. Nicky looks over and Nathaniel’s untouched plate and responds to Kevin with “Well, maybe you just picked out something he doesn’t want. Not everyone likes salads, Kev-in.”</p><p>“Nathaniel does!” Kevin says defensively. </p><p>“<em>God</em>, will you two shut up! Why does it even matter?” Aaron grits out. </p><p>Each word spoken is like a mallet being brought down onto a peg that’s digging deeper and deeper into his chest. </p><p>“A man can only have so many issues.”</p><p>Nathaniel turns at the words to find Andrew staring at him knowingly. The way the blond looks at him…it makes Nathaniel squirm. It’s as if the goalie can see through all the cracks Nathaniel tries to hide. The redhead’s been successful in hiding these things from other people before, but Andrew’s an exception, he supposes. Even more of a reason for him to tread carefully.</p><p>Nathaniel turns back to his salad and slowly begins to eat it. The entire dish tastes like nothing, which just makes his mouth water even more, but he manages to swallow a few mouthfuls. </p><p>“We’re leaving,” Andrew announces shortly after. No one objects. They seem to be excited to down shots and lose themselves on the dance floor. </p><p>Nathaniel’s been to fancy clubs before. They were nothing like the two-story nightclub known as <em>Eden’s Twilight</em>. He wouldn’t call Eden’s fancy. It’s a bit more flamboyant than your typical club, he supposes, but there’s nothing classy about it. Though, the line to get in is long. The clothing choice of those waiting in the line makes Nathaniel’s outfit look modest. He quickly averts his eyes and looks ahead to where Aaron’s talking to the bouncers at the entrance. And then the five of them are slipping into the club, bypassing the entire line. </p><p>
  <em>So they have some inside connections to this place. Good to know.</em>
</p><p>Nicky must see Nathaniel’s questioning look besides he leans over, yelling over the thrum of music that’s only getting louder as they approach the interior of the building. “We used to work here. You know, before Palmetto. A lot of these guys remember us and pull some strings to help us out.”</p><p>Aaron pushes open the second set of doors and the sound washes over them in full force. The neon lighting on the dance floor almost immediately gives Nathaniel a headache. The five of these are standing on a platform that wraps around the large room. It’s littered with high-top tables and chairs. Stairs on each side of the platform led down into the packed dance floor below. There are also stairs for going up into the second floor of the club. </p><p>The others immediately move forward and Nathaniel trails behind. He could lose them in the crowd, perhaps. But he thinks that’s unlikely with how Andrew is watching him. </p><p>As soon as they claim a table, everyone but Kevin scatters. Andrew locks eyes with Nathaniel. </p><p>“You’re with me.”</p><p>Nathaniel follows after him without argument. The blond leads him to the bar. The bartender currently working lights up whenever he spots Andrew. Nathaniel assumes it’s someone that knew Andrew from when he used to work here. </p><p>“Andrew! You’re back.”</p><p>“Roland,” Andrew says in acknowledgment as he leans on the bar. Nathaniel eyes the sticky surface with distaste and then flinches when someone accidentally bumps into him. </p><p>The bartender—Roland—looks at Nathaniel then. He raises an eyebrow and returns his attention to Andrew. “New friend?”</p><p>“No,” Andrew says easily. “Just the usual, Roland.”</p><p>Roland glances at Nathaniel again, looking at him but not really addressing him. “And anything for your not-friend?”</p><p>Andrew sighs and turns to stare down Nathaniel. “That depends.”</p><p>Nathaniel knows he’s expecting an answer. “I’m not drinking.”</p><p>“Of course you aren’t,” Andrew says to him. Nathaniel can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. To Roland, Andrews says, “Get him a water.”</p><p>“Did you hear what I just said?” Nathaniel hisses. “I said I’m not drinking.”</p><p>“Not even water? You didn’t touch the glass of water at Sweetie’s. Why?”</p><p>Nathaniel clenches his jaw. The colors from the lights above dance across Andrew’s face. It makes everything feel out of touch with reality. </p><p>“I wasn’t thirsty.”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>Roland quickly whips up a tray of drinks in which Andrew hefts up with one hand and holds up high as he weaves back through the crowds of people. Everyone his back at the table and they practically attack the drinks as soon as Andrew sets down the tray. Aaron and Nicky leave for the dance floor as soon as they get their fill, but Kevin keeps tossing back shots like there’s no tomorrow. Nathaniel is fully aware of the distaste evident on his face. </p><p>“For as much as you claim to hate Kevin, you sure do stare at him a lot,” Andrew points out as he tosses back a shot. </p><p>“I do not stare at him.”</p><p>“You do. And you talk to him.”</p><p>Nathaniel snorts. “More like glaring and cursing. I’m sure you knew that, though, right? You’re just starting off with small talk.”</p><p>Andrew hums and pushes the glass of water closer to the redhead. “I don’t do small talk. I think you’ve learned that I prefer more direct methods. You knew what coming back would mean, which is why you agreed to come <em>here</em>.”</p><p>Nathaniel stares back at him and then the glass. “I’m not drinking that.”</p><p>“And yet again, I ask why would you not want to drink water?”</p><p>Nathaniel doesn’t answer, but Andrew wasn’t expecting him to because he quickly continues on. “It’s a rhetorical question, of course, because your issue with food and drinks is very obvious.”</p><p>A flush comes across the redhead’s face. He’s angry and frustrated and <em>uncomfortable in his own skin</em>—not necessarily because of tonight’s events, but they certainly aren’t helping the matter. </p><p>“You look as though you’re seconds away from exploding. You’ve looked that way all night,” Andrew says. </p><p>When Nathaniel says nothing to that too, Andrews adds, “To me, that seems like you have something to be worried about—something you’re hiding—which, I already knew. You radiate trouble. And you do a shit job at hiding it.”</p><p>“So, what?” Nathaniel snaps, the steam rising until it’s filling his head. He wouldn’t be surprised it if is now coming out of his ears. “You dress me up and take me out just to tell me what you already know. If you already have me <em>so figured out</em>—,” Nathaniel sneers the words, “—then I don’t understand why I need to be here. Unless <em>this</em> is the sort of thing that gets you off.” </p><p>Off to the side, Nathaniel hears Kevin choke on his drink, and the redhead’s flush spreads, but he refuses to break eye contact with the blond. </p><p>“Two strikes,” Andrew says, his voice flatter than it was before. “The reason you're here is because you came back, knowing what that meant. Or maybe I’m giving you too much credit and you actually just have no sense of self-preservation.”</p><p>Andrew taps his full shot glass against the table, but his eyes are on the glass of water in front of Nathaniel. The water looks innocent, but Nathaniel’s not stupid, despite what Andrew may think. </p><p>“I’m not drinking it,” he repeats, putting as much sharp conviction as he can muster behind his words. “I not playing your games.”</p><p>The events of tonight so far have been strangely disorienting. Parts of the night remind him of his time with Sasha, other parts remind him of Riko. Both of them liked to manipulate them and Nathaniel was tired of other people trapping him in the corner. </p><p>“<em>Actually</em>, by refusing to drink, the only other alternative <em>is</em> a game.” </p><p>Andrew tosses back the shot and sets it back down on the table. He turns to Kevin who, by now, is well on his way to sending himself to the hospital with alcohol poisoning. </p><p>“Kevin.” Andrew reaches out and snaps his fingers in front of the striker, bringing Kevin’s attention back to him. “Don’t check out yet. I need you coherent so you can continue to fill any details that Nathaniel here decides to leave out.”</p><p>The metaphorical bars slam down around him, trapping him at the table. Kevin, even as inebriated as he is, serves as a supervisor of sorts—a guard—whereas Andrew’s the warden…okay, maybe a bit extreme. If there’s one thing Nathaniel needs to keep in mind when dealing with this is that <em>he’s faced worse men</em>. In terms of power and sadistic tendencies, Nathaniel could safely bet that Andrew was milder than the Moriyamas and Ostrovskys.</p><p>
But it is that innate fear that’s been beaten into him over the years that betrays the logic he tries to produce. His memories and muscles scream wrong, wrong, wrong with each step forward and each word that is spoken. 
</p><p>
    It’s fine. You need to keep pushing forward
</p><p>
“If you’re not drinking, we’re going to play a game,” Andrew says. “A truth for a truth.”
</p><p>
Nathaniel eyes the blond skeptically. “There’s nothing I want from you.” <em>Nothing I want to know</em> about <em>you</em>. “How is this fair?"
</p><p>
“You want to stay, don’t you?”
</p><p>
Nathaniel swallows the lump in his throat. “Wymack and Abby won’t make me leave if I don’t want to.” But even as he says it, Nathaniel knows it’s a pitiful excuse. 
</p><p>
Andrew leans forward slightly. “I told you I would get rid of you one way or another. I meant it.”
</p><p>
“Andrew,” Kevin says, his face flushed but words still crisp. “Andrew, you don’t have to—“
</p><p>
A sharp glance from the blonde silences Kevin. Nathaniel remembers what Riko said about the two of them. What Andrew’s doing <em>for</em> Kevin. Nathaniel doesn’t waste his breath by telling Andrew it’s pointless protecting Kevin from Riko because, in the end, Kevin will have the final say. Andrew's efforts will be for nothing. 
</p><p>
“Fine. Ask,” Nathaniel says.
</p><p>
True to his word, Andrew wastes no time with pointless questions. “Why’d you run off that night at Abby’s?”
</p><p>
“You told me to.”
</p><p>
“You’re supposed to be telling the <em>truth</em>, Nathaniel. Think harder.”
</p><p>
    <em>The best lies are half-truths.</em>
</p><p>
“I was trying to get back to The Nest,” he says slowly.
</p><p>
“Clearly, which only further proves your lack of self-preservation.”
</p><p>
“You don’t know what The Nest is like,” Nathaniel points out. “And you made it clear what would happen if I stayed.”
</p><p>
“And yet you came back,” Andrews muses. “So, tell me: was that on your own accord, or was that an order given by the Moriyamas?”
</p><p>
    <em>Tread carefully.</em>
</p><p>
“It’s not your turn,” Nathaniel says. He looks over at Kevin. The striker has slowed down and is not nursing a glass of alcohol as he follows Nathaniel and Andrew’s conversation. Kevin’s fingers tap against the glass. A nervous habit of his—<em>still</em>. Kevin’s green eyes find his and Nathaniel wants the striker to <em>stop</em> looking at him like <em>that</em>. 
</p><p>
Nathaniel turns back to Andrew abruptly. “What is this agreement you have with Kevin? He follows you around like a little puppy. It’s pitiful. And you…Why’d you agree to it?” 
</p><p>
“That’s two questions.”
</p><p>
“Put one on credit,” Nathaniel says.
</p><p>
“Trying to change the rules? ” Andrew responds, raising an eyebrow. “I keep the Moriyamas off Kevin’s back—and any lackeys they send this way.” Andrew’s gaze drills into his, causing his stomach to stir yet again. He reaches his hand down to grip the material at his side, which is a feat considering how tight the shirt is. “As for why...I was bored.”
</p><p>
    <em>Such detailed responses.</em>
</p><p>
Nathaniel looks over at Kevin, but Andrew is quick to draw his attention back. “So, Moriyama lackey, why don’t you tell me why they sent you back?”
</p><p>
“I’m not their lackey,” Nathaniel says through his teeth. <em>You’re worse than that. You’re their property.</em>
</p><p>
“Try again, <em>number four</em>.” Andrew’s voice is mocking. His hand leaves the shot glass and brushes against the edge of his armband. 
</p><p>
<em>Fuck him and his not-so-subtle intimidation tactics</em>. If anything, Nathaniel just becomes more stubborn. 
</p><p>
“I answered the question.”
</p><p>
“You’re supposed to answer the question truthfully. If you don’t, I think that says enough about your intentions here.” The knife Andrew pulled from his armband glints under the club lighting. 
</p><p>
“<em>Andrew</em>—“ Nathaniel hears Kevin rasp. 
</p><p>
“I’m not a rat,” Nathaniel snarls. It shouldn’t be hard to think, but his brain keeps whirling and whirling. “I know you don’t believe that, but I—“
</p><p>
Nathaniel swallows a lump in his throat and turns to Kevin. “Why should you be the only one who gets out?” He all but hisses. Kevin turns pale as a ghost under the lights. “I don’t want to be stuck there. I realized that when I ran off. I got all the way to West Virginia, met with one of The Master’s people. I froze, okay? I can’t go back, not after everything. He tried to grab me, gave me these.” Nathaniel’s trembling hands reach up to brush against the fading collar of bruises. “But I got away and managed to find someone who was heading in this direction and could give me a lift back.”
</p><p>
“Convenient,” Andrew mutters.
</p><p>
“Yeah, convenient,” Nathaniel snaps back, not having to fake the bitterness on his face. “I managed to find a decent person after getting smacked around by a not-so-decent person.”
</p><p>
“But why come back <em>here</em>?” Andrew presses, both with his words and the knife that now rests against the bare skin of Nathaniel’s thigh. 
</p><p>
Nathaniel swallows against the dryness in his throat. He is thirsty, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to pick up that water. And while he may be parched, that’s not the entire reason for his sudden falter. The next words he speaks are so achingly true that speaking them leaves a burning in his chest and throat. It’s like pulling barbed wired up from his stomach and out his mouth.
</p><p>
“I have nowhere else to go,” Nathaniel admits, his voice wavering slightly. It’s pitiful and he hates it—<em>hates</em> the vulnerability that shows when things hit too close. He wants to hit himself. His mother would if she were still alive. He deserves it. Since when did he turn so pathetic? Since when is he unable to lie about parts of his life without turning into a distraught mess. He’ll get himself killed like this. And Andrews—he’s witnessed the mental breakdown that happened in the bathroom when Nathaniel first came back and then the one Nathaniel’s having right now. The blond is looking at him the same way, too.
</p><p>
“Poor you,” Andrew drones, knife still firm against his thigh. “Seems like the perfect sob story. I don’t believe it.”
</p><p>
“Andrew,” Kevin says again, sounding just a pained as Nathaniel feels, which is <em>oh so rich</em>. “Stop. Nathaniel knows—“
</p><p>
“I’m not going back, Kevin,” the redhead says firmly. He can’t and he won’t. Then, in French, he says, “Jean got me out just as he got you out. He put himself on the line for both of us. <em>Neither of us is going back. For him</em>.”
</p><p>
The words leaving his mouth make him feel sick. They seem to have the same effect on Kevin—although, the copious amounts of alcohol he’s consumed tonight might also have something to do with that. The truth is that by not going back, he’s leaving Jean behind. Fuck his partner’s efforts of getting them out. He’s alone in there and leaving him as such feels like a betrayal on Nathaniel’s part. They’re <em>partners</em>. Jean’s the only person worth going back for. 
</p><p>
    <em>Wait for me. I’ll be back in a few months, dead or alive.</em>
</p><p>
 Nathaniel hisses and jerks back in his chair when he feels the blade press deeper into his skin. “Say that again but in English.”
</p><p>
“I said <em>I’m not going back</em>,” Nathaniel growls. “The only way to get me back in The Nest is in a body bag.”
</p><p>
“That can be arranged,” Andrew shoots back.
</p><p>
The flat tenor of his voice and his indifferent expression makes it difficult to tell how close he is to really snapping. Nathaniel’s evaluating his chance at winning if a fight broke out. He has the butterknife he took from the restaurant, which is seriously inferior to Andrew’s multiple knives. If only Nathaniel could get his hands on one. The easiest knife to snag would be the one Andrew’s holding right now, but Andrew would likely expect that. It would come down to a battle of strength, which is a category Andrew cellars excels in. Not to mention Nathaniel’s out-numbered. Then again, Kevin’s the only one here and he’s clearly inebriated. Still, Nathaniel isn’t willing to risk going up against Andrew one-on-one. Not here. 
</p><p>
A flash of red past Andrew’s head catches his eye. He first thinks it’s due to the lights and intends to pay it no mind, but then his brain processes what he’s looking at and why it caught his attention. It’s a man wearing a suit. It’s the same suit every Raven is forced to wear to the Exy banquets. Mostly black with red accents, made with a fine, noticeable material that catches the light. An outfit that’s meant to stand out amongst a crowd—even one as colorful and flashy as this one in Eden’s. The pressing question is <em>what the hell is someone doing wearing it here</em>? 
</p><p>
The man in the suit is turned so Nathaniel can only see the back of him and a bit of his side—nothing recognizable. He wonders if he knows this person. Is it a Raven or some random person that was given this suit? It’s definitely a ruse—but from who? The Master? Riko? Ichirou?
</p><p>
    <em>Oh fuck, he’s fucked. What is this? Why now?</em>
</p><p>
Nathaniel’s wired. His instincts scream for him to run. Run away or at the person? He doesn’t know, but he needs to <em>move</em>. When he goes to stand up, so does Andrew. 
</p><p>
Sit down,” the blond says, pressing the knife into Nathaniel’s gut this time.
</p><p>
 The man in the Raven suit disappears into the crowd a moment later and when Nathaniel leans forward as if to follow him, Andrew pushes back.
</p><p>
“Really?” Nathaniel bites. “You’re going to stab me here? In a club surrounded by dozens of people?”
</p><p>
“Don’t tempt me.”
</p><p>
“Andrew!” Nicky calls as he stumbles towards the table. A hint of panic and urgency is clear in his tone and it seems to be strange enough for Andrew to turn away from Nathaniel and regard his cousin. 
</p><p>
Nicky nearly barrels into the table. He’s sweating and covered in glitter. His eyes are wide and a bit frantic. “I can’t find Aaron.”
</p><p>
Nathaniel’s muscles tense. A cold feeling goes through his body. It can’t be a coincidence. This has the Moriyamas written all over this. <em>Shit</em>. What is he supposed to do? What can he do? 
</p><p>
“What do you mean you can’t find Aaron?"
</p><p>
“I mean I looked all over the dance floor for him and he’s not there—or the bathrooms. I didn’t know if he came up here.” Nicky looks at Kevin for confirmation, but the striker shakes his head. Nicky’s face falls. 
</p><p>
“Stay here,” Andrew says. He starts to step away from the table but stops to look at Nathaniel again. The blond snags his shirt sleeve and tugs him along. 
</p><p>
“Have you seen Aaron?” Andrew asks promptly when they get to the bar. Roland blinks at the two of them.
</p><p>
“Uh, no. Why?”
</p><p>
Andrew doesn’t even bother with a response as he drags Nathaniel back to the table where Nicky and Kevin are still waiting. 
</p><p>
“We’re leaving,” Andrew says. Nathaniel whips his head around to stare at the blond, taken aback by his words. 
</p><p>
“Did you find Aaron?”
</p><p>
Andrew ignores his cousin and pulls Nathaniel along like a rag doll. He doesn’t lead them out the front doors of the club, but rather heads towards the back. Nathaniel sees that the hall they enter is marked as <em>'Staff Only,’</em> but Andrew pays it no heed. Nicky and Kevin file in afterward, and as soon as the door closed behind the four of them, blocking them off from the rest of the club, Andrew’s turning on Nathaniel with fire in his eyes. 
</p><p>
A second later Nathaniel is being shoved up against the wall. His head hits first and his teeth rattle at the impact. His vision blacks out momentarily, but when the stars behind his eyes disappear, all he sees is Andrew’s snarling face in front of him, teeth bared, eyes alight. His hands are bunched in the material on Nathaniel’s shirt, dragging it up and exposing a sliver of his stomach. Normally, Nathaniel would be concerned with that bit and try to cover it quickly, but he can barely move, his body currently pinned between Andrew’s body and the wall. 
</p><p>
  <em>“Where is my brother?”</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello, I am back! Sorry for the 2+ week break. I got busy and writer's block came to visit for a bit, but here's the Eden's scene as promised! Was the ending a spontaneous choice? Possibly. So, as you can probably guess, the next chapter will be a part 2 of sorts of the Eden's scene. Also, if this chapter seems messy, just yes. That can be attributed to writer's block, the two weeks that it took me to write this, and the lack of editing done on my part :)</p><p>I also realized Andrew might be more chatty here than in canon, but we're rolling with it. Oh, we reached 500 kudos a few days ago. Thanks sm for all of y'alls support! ily :)</p><p>Also, I'm going to be focusing more on my own OC WIPs in 2021 cuz need to actually write a book to get published lol, so I'm pushing back the chapter publishing frequency to once every 2 weeks so I have more time for my other projects. I'll be posting some stuff about them and some sneak peeks for chapters in Come Back For Me as I write them on my <a href="https://twitter.com/emptyambrosia">Twitter</a> </p><p>-orth</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. This is a Mistake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings: death and blood</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Andrew’s hands are very close to Nathaniel’s neck. The goalie’s fingers aren’t yet wrapped around the redhead’s skin, around the fading bruises exactly, but he’s close. Nathaniel can feel the blond’s fingers shaking, can see the nearly tangible rage building in his frame. This—<em>this</em> is what Andrew Minyard looks like barely constrained and close to snapping. </p><p>“I don’t know where your brother is,” Nathaniel grits out. He’s being honest, but he still expects to receive the brute force of Andrew’s anger. Not a second after those words leave his mouth, Andrew’s hands are tightening around his collar. Nathaniel feels the phantom fingers resting over his bruises and welcomes Andrew’s rage. A dark urge is bubbling up inside of him, coating his skin in flames and purging his mind with forbidden thoughts. </p><p>He pays no attention to Nicky’s nervous fidgeting or Kevin’s sudden display of clarity; he keeps his eyes on Andrew. The blond grits his teeth and a knife replaces one of his hands. Nicky screeches in alarm, but the two of them pay no mind to anyone but each other. </p><p>“I don’t believe you,” Andrew says slowly, voice controlled but unwavering. The blade presses against the tender skin of his neck. </p><p>“I don’t care,” Nathaniel spits back, perhaps securing his demise, but his mind is reeling with these new sensations. His instincts are screaming <em>panic</em> but his body is <em>singing</em>. “It’s the truth. The longer you stay back here threatening me, the longer it’ll take to find your brother. Your choice.”</p><p>Still keeping his eyes on Andrew and Andrew only, Nathaniel hears Kevin suck in a breath. The air in the hallway is still and heavy. The neon lights dance into the space through the small window on the door. The music from the dance floor is muffled here, but it pulses through his body, bringing his nerves to the surface. He’s very much aware of Andrew’s hands. </p><p>After another few seconds of glaring, Andrew growls and turns around, dragging Nathaniel along with him along. He’s put away the knife—or at least removed it from Nathaniel’s neck. </p><p>“Andrew!” Nicky squawks, but the blond marches forward, pushing the door back open and dragging Nathaniel back into the club. Nathaniel glances down and sees that Andrew’s hand wraps around the entirety of his wrist. </p><p>“Roland,” Andrew says when they arrive at the bar. Everything Andrew says is direct and sure. There’s no hesitation or softness. </p><p>The said bartender turns to them with another grin on his face, but Andrew doesn’t even allow him to say anything. “Are you sober?”</p><p>Roland blinks at him, clearly caught off guard by the question. “Uh, yeah. I know you don’t like it when—“</p><p>“You didn’t take anything?” Andrew presses, cutting him off abruptly. </p><p>“I mean, like, a few hours ago, but it’s kind of been busy, so—“</p><p>“You’re driving Nicky and Kevin back,” he tells the bartender, his voice clearly leaving no room for objections, yet they still come. </p><p>“Andrew!” Roland gapes and looks behind him. “I can’t! I’m still on the clock!”</p><p>“You <em>will</em>.” He turns to Kevin and Nicky, who looks just as taken aback by his words. “Go back to the house and <em>stay put</em>. Lock the doors and wait for me to call you.”</p><p>“Andrew!” Nicky cries. “What the hell!? No, I’m not leaving. We need to find Aaron—“</p><p>“Shut up. You’re going back to the house. <em>I’m</em> going to find Aaron. Understand?”</p><p>Kevin starts, “Andrew, I don’t think that’s a good idea—“</p><p>“No! I don’t understand. What the hell is going on—“</p><p>“You’re leaving,” Andrew growls. “<em>Now</em>.”</p><p>“I drove Steven here. I can’t just bail on him,” Roland says, still behind the bar. </p><p>“Steven can get another ride back. Hurry the fuck up.”</p><p>Roland lets out a groan of frustration and goes to turn around, but he stops and faces them again. “Oh, also,” he says, his voice short, “some guy bought you a drink, Red. Said it was nice to see you again and to remind you about the, uh…high school reunion coming up?”</p><p>Nathaniel’s eyes widen and Andrew quickly glances at him. “Did you get a name? What’d they look like?” The blond asks Roland. </p><p>The bartender’s brows furrow. “Um…no, no name. Dark hair and eyes. I don’t know. He was wearing a suit, though, which was…odd.”</p><p>Something clicks into place and his suspicions are confirmed. Roland’s talking about the guy Nathaniel saw earlier in the Raven’s suit, meaning this whole thing is likely being orchestrated by a Moriyama. Nathaniel turns away when he spots Andrew staring at him. </p><p>“Ring a bell?” Roland asks. It’s an innocent question, but Nathaniel shakes his head. </p><p>“Nope,” he says roughly, aware of Andrew’s gaze. </p><p>The blond turns back to the bartender. “Go get your shit.”</p><p>“Who is—?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Andrew, I think we should call someone if we have no idea where Aaron is,” Nicky pleads. </p><p>Andrew ignores his cousin. Nathaniel notices Kevin fiddling and shifting his weight back and forth. He has no idea what’s going on—neither he nor Nicky do. Andrew seems to have caught on to something, and Nathaniel has a pretty good idea of the situation. When Roland appears a minute late with his jacket and keys, Nicky swallows and looks at Nathaniel and then Andrew. </p><p>“Just—just be careful. And don’t do anything illegal.”</p><p>Nathaniel snorts, but Andrew doesn’t react to that or Nicky’s words. As soon as the other three leave, though, Andrew is turning right back on Nathaniel. The redhead notices beads of sweat on Andrew’s forehead. He’s looking a little pale again, too. Despite all of that, his gaze is strong and unwavering. Nathaniel recognizes that look; he knows Andrew is putting the pieces together, so he fights for any ounce of control he can gain in this situation. </p><p>“Was that a smart idea—sending them away like that?” He knows Andrew doesn’t appreciate his tone.</p><p>He still plays along for only a moment. “I didn’t think they’d want to witness a stabbing, which is exactly what <em>will</em> happen if you don’t stop messing around. Who is that guy who bought you a drink?”</p><p>Nathaniel licks his lips, ignoring Andrew’s question. “You’re going to stab me here?” </p><p>“That’s up to you, <em>Red</em>?” Andrew takes a step closer, bringing the blade back to Nathaniel’s body. It’s touching his leg this time. Nathaniel notices that Andrew’s hand is a little unsteady, making him holding a knife that much more dangerous. “Who is he and where did he take my brother?”</p><p>
  <em>Get closer to them. They have to trust you, first—or at least not see you as a threat. Give a little.</em>
</p><p>Previously, Nathaniel had thought of Andrew as a lesser threat. He doesn’t have the manpower or money that the Moriyamas and Ostrovskys do, but he’s smart and loyal. Nathaniel assumes the latter—he’s heard the stories and he’s witnessing the blond’s…dare he say…protectiveness? Still, the redhead can’t help but think Andrew’s actions are due to some messed up form of obligation. Although, Nathaniel doesn’t think Andrew’s obligation to his family is like Nathaniel’s obligation to the Moriyamas—no, it’s wildly different, but the redhead certainly sees similarities. </p><p>“I don’t know for sure,” Nathaniel ends up saying. “The guy is tied to the Ravens, though. He was wearing a Raven suit.”</p><p>Andrew’s brows pinch for a moment before he’s pushing Nathaniel hastily out of the club, searching for the black car they drove here in. </p><p>“Why would a Raven take my brother?”</p><p>“He’s not a Raven,” Nathaniel says. Andrew is currently behind him slightly, pushing him along. Nathaniel hates being in front. The thrumming feeling provided by the club atmosphere is gone, now, leaving him sticky and unsure of himself. “And I don’t know why he would want your brother. I don’t even know what he’s doing here.”</p><p>Andrew squeezes Nathaniel’s forearm until the redhead feels pins and needles racing up his arm. He fights the urge to flinch away. </p><p>“Think harder.”</p><p>Nathaniel wants to snap back that he doesn’t know because that’s the truth, but he knows Andrew won’t accept those words again, not with his brother’s life on the line. Nathaniel doubts some wannabe Ravens would—<em>could</em> kill someone. They’re likely messengers. But if there’s one thing Nathaniel does know, it’s that the Moriyamas are resourceful and unrelenting. If they truly wanted Aaron dead, they would find a way to do it, quickly. Nathaniel realizes that none of this would be happening if he hadn’t come to Palmetto, but…he’s completely lost. He’s trapped here, perhaps just as trapped as he was at The Nest. It’s a sullen thought that leaves him choking on the overwhelming feeling of always being watched and being out of control of the situation. Do they do this on purpose? They let him go and drive him crazy. They’re ruining him while he’s serving them—no, there’s not much to ruin, he supposes.</p><p>Nathaniel is swung around and shoved against something hard. He spots the car out of the corner of his eye—Andrew’s car. </p><p>“Listen. Whatever internal panic attack you’re dealing with—fucking deal with it already. You say you’re not a threat, but my family is in danger because of you. So fucking do something about it if you don’t want me to gut you right here and now,” Andrew growls, one hand grabbing a fistful of Nathaniel’s shirt and the other pressing the knife into Nathaniel’s gut. For a moment there, Nathaniel almost leans forward, welcoming the sharp kiss of the blade. But like every time before, something—or rather <em>someone</em>—yanks him back and slaps some sense into him. </p><p>
  <em>Live. Live, Nathaniel!</em>
</p><p>“Collateral” Nathaniel croaks. “Your brother was either taken to draw you in or they mistook him for you, but I don’t know why—“</p><p>“Where would they take him?” Andrew interrupts, pressing Nathaniel harder against the car.</p><p>“I—“ Nathaniel’s mind whirls and then he latches on to that bit of unnecessary information. “The high school. The guy wouldn’t have mentioned it if it wasn’t significant. Do you know where the closest high school is?”</p><p>Andrew finally releases him. “I can figure it out,” he says as he walks around to the driver’s side of the car and slips in. Nathaniel takes that as his cue to open the passenger’s side door and get in. </p><p>Nathaniel looks over at Andrew and notices the blond is sweating even more now, despite now being out of the stuffy and hot club. His hands are still shaking, too, and his eyes look wild again. </p><p>“You’re going through withdrawal again,” Nathaniel states. </p><p>Andrew ignores him in favor of digging into his back pocket and pulling out two small bags of some white powder. Nathaniel’s eyes widen as Andrew downs the substance in both bags almost greedily. The blond’s fingers grip the steering wheel as he breathes harshly, waiting for the drugs to kick in. </p><p>“What—“</p><p>“Cracker dust,” Andrew interrupts, taking another deep breath to steady himself. “It’s nonaddictive. Just helps curve the withdrawal symptoms.”</p><p>"Is that what the drink was laced with?"</p><p>Andrew acts as if Nathaniel never asked a question. After another few seconds, the blond starts the car and quickly reverses out of their spot against the curb. </p><p>“Are you sure you should be driving?”</p><p>The blond doesn’t bother with a response. He just drives down the street at an alarming speed. It then hits Nathaniel that the two of them are meeting up with a juvenile kidnapper at a local school well past midnight. It could be a trap—Roland and Nathaniel only say one guy, but there could be more. Maybe some with guns. It wouldn’t be the first time Nathaniel’s willingly walked into a gunfight, but even so…</p><p>“Are you going to give me a knife?”</p><p>Andrew ignores him again, so Nathaniel takes that as a no. He wasn’t expecting Andrew to trust him with a weapon. For all Andrew knows, Nathaniel could be in on this and turn against Andrew once they’re in the back parking lot of the school. </p><p>“I don’t trust you,” Andrew says as they close in on the location. “If I gave you a knife, I would expect you to stab me in the back. I’m not going to risk my brother’s life to prove a point.”</p><p>Nathaniel stares at Andrew, processing his words. “If Aaron wasn’t involved, would you?”</p><p>Andrew glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “Our game has been paused, so you’re going to have to wait for your answer.”</p><p>They park a few blocks away from the school after having decided it would be best to walk up so that they’re not detected. Andrew pulls out one of his knives. </p><p>“You’re going to stab him?” Nathaniel asks. Andrew just blinks at him. Nathaniel clarifies. “It’s not smart. It’ll make this whole thing even messier. We should just knock them out, get Aaron, and leave.”</p><p>“Worried your buddies will get hurt?”</p><p>“I told you they’re not my ‘buddies’,” Nathaniel growls. “And you know I’m right.”</p><p>Andrew just gets out of the car and shuts the door quietly. Nathaniel follows suit and the two of them walk the additional a hundred or so yards to the school. They go around back, which is further concealed in shadows and out of sight from anyone driving by on the road. Nathaniel peaks around the corner, trying to look for any sign of another person. If they wanted Nathaniel to come, they wouldn’t make it hard to find them, right? The sudden thought of Andrew and him being at the wrong high school crosses his mind. He’s not familiar with the area. He doesn’t know how many high schools there are in Columbia. But right then, he spots something right as Andrew nudges him. </p><p>Nathaniel sees that there are two of them, not one, about fifty feet in an alcove near the dumpsters. He recognizes them too. He doesn’t remember their names, but their faces he knows from a time before Eden’s tonight. He was right—they’re wannabe Ravens. They had tried out last year but didn’t make the cut. Nathaniel wouldn’t be surprised if whichever Moriyama was involved in this promised them a spot on the team—even if it was solely as a benchwarmer—if they complete this little task. Kidnapping. Nathaniel scoffs. A menial task for a Moriyama, so he recruits others to do the job for me. He couldn’t possibly think that they would be successful. So, what’s his real motive?</p><p>Aaron is only a few feet away from the two of them. He has something covering his mouth and eyes. His wrist and ankles seem to be restrained, too. </p><p>Andrew goes to back up as the two guys begin to argue. </p><p>“What are you doing?” Nathaniel whispers. </p><p>“They wanted <em>you</em> to meet them here,” Andrew says. “You distract them and I’ll sneak around from behind.”</p><p>Nathaniel stares at him. “If we both sneak up from behind, it’ll be better odds.”</p><p>Andrew gives Nathaniel a <em>look</em> and says, “It’ll be fine.” He disappears into the shadows. </p><p>Nathaniel turns back around and takes a deep breath. <em>Well, fuck. Guess Andrew is calling the shots with this one.</em> Which he supposes is fair considering it’s Nathaniel’s fault they’re all in this whole mess. He counts to thirty before stepping out from the corner and slowly approaching the two men. It takes them a pitifully long time before they notice him. Definitely amateurs. </p><p>“Nathaniel,” one of them says—quite loudly, may Nathaniel note. “So, you got our message?”</p><p>
  <em>No, I just randomly decided to come to the nearby high school after the club.</em>
</p><p>“Obviously,” he says, still approaching. He sees Aaron angle his head in the direction of Nathaniel's voice. “What do you want?”</p><p>“Just for you to come back with us,” one of them says. “We’ll let Andrew go.”</p><p><em>So, these two idiots</em> did <em>mistake Aaron is Andrew.</em></p><p>“And let me guess: You’re going to bring me back to The Nest?”</p><p>“Seems like you already know the protocol.”</p><p>Nathaniel sees a movement behind one of the guys. Andrew steps out, wielding a shovel, and with a single quick swing, one of the guys drops cold. The other wannabe Raven spins around, leaving his back open to Nathaniel, which is his mistake. The redhead crouches down and picks up a spare glass coke bottle that had rolled away. Nathaniel takes a few steps forward and brings the glass down on the guy's head. He wasn’t expecting the blow to knock the guys out, just catch him off guard, which it does. The guy stumbles forward, momentarily losing his footing, and that gives Andrew the perfect opportunity to sock the guy right across the face. He soon joins his friend on the ground. </p><p>Nathaniel looks up at Andrew, but the blond only catches his eyes for a moment before he’s spinning around and looking for his brother. He quickly takes the blindfold and gag off. </p><p>“What the fuck, Andrew!?” Aaron yells as soon as he’s able to, his voice laced with panic.</p><p>“Shut up,” Andrew grits out as he kneels down beside his brother to cut the restraints tied around his wrists. Aaron looks around and stares at the two men currently knocked unconscious in the parking lot. He lifts his gaze and finds Nathaniel standing still a few feet away. Nathaniel expects him to be frightened, maybe a bit irritated, but he’s neither. Instead, he appears confused.</p><p>“Where’s the other one?”</p><p>
  <em>The other one?</em>
</p><p>Andrew looks up a second later, right as Nathaniel’s mind registers the words and his body is tensing again in preparation for a fight. Unfortunately for him, he’s a second too late. A large force hits him from behind and he hits the ground hard. He managed to twist around a bit, so he lands on his back, the heavy body leaning over him, trapping him He can’t see anything. One of the guy’s hands is touching his stomach where his shirt rode up. The other hand is wrapping around his neck, covering the bruises. A sudden wave of panic and nausea rushes through his body and the familiar, yet not familiar touches. </p><p>Nathaniel lashes out with one hand, trying to hit the man. His gaze narrows until it’s just him and his attacker. His other hand grasps against the asphalt for anything he can use to defend himself. He registers his hand closing in on something sharp and when the hand around his neck begins to squeeze and pull him up, he strikes. </p><p>The piece of jagged glass cuts deep into Nathaniel’s palm and fingers, but he doesn’t realize this until later. The adrenaline and panic are too high at the moment. He is in fight or flight mode. The glass cut into his skin easily and it cuts into his attacker’s neck just as smoothly. </p><p>The man immediately lets go of Nathaniel and instead scrambles at the piece of glass now jutting out of his neck. Nathaniel falls back against the ground and scrambles backward. His attacker falls to his knees a foot away, and then melts all the way against the ground, choking against the blood that’s bubbling up in his throat. Nathaniel’s seen this happen before. </p><p>He would later gauge that it all happened in about five seconds, but at that moment it felt like five minutes. Andrew stands only two feet away—so close yet so far—watching as the man at Nathaniel’s feet gasps and bleeds out. </p><p>“Shit,” he breathes. </p><p>Nathaniel doesn’t know how long it takes before the man finally falls quiet. The redhead is kneeling now, staring down at the man he’d just killed. </p><p>
  <em>He just killed someone.</em>
</p><p>He flinches as he feels something warm seep into the knees of his jeans. Blood. It’s the guy’s blood. He moves back, away from the puddle. </p><p>“What just…?” He hears Aaron say, voice hushed. </p><p>It all happened so fast. Nathaniel’s used to long, drawn-out deaths. Torturing—all of which committed by his father and his people. Nathaniel sometimes forgets that it can be so fast and simple. </p><p>He blinks and stares at the dead man in front of him. He waits, almost if he’s expecting the man to jumps up and attack or take another shuttering breath. When he doesn’t, Nathaniel resolutely confirms that he’s dead.</p><p>The alarm sets in a moment later. </p><p>
  <em>Shit. He’s really fucking dead.</em>
</p><p>He’s seen dead bodies before—more than he can count. But no one’s death has ever been directly his fault. This is the first one. </p><p>
  <em>Congrats, Junior.</em>
</p><p>Nathaniel becomes aware of his heart lurching in his chest. He needs to cover this up. Hide the evidence. <em>He</em> won’t be able to do that—neither will Andrew or Aaron. <em>Think. Think.</em></p><p>“Look at him! He’s fucking crazy, Andrew!”</p><p>Nathaniel dives for the dead body but stops. He can’t be hasty. He needs to calm down and try to erase all traces of them being here. While on the run, he and his mother had come across their fair share of dead bodies when hopping from place to place. Some of them were in the wrong place at the wrong time, others had OD’d. His mom would always check their bodies for any valuables. Nathaniel hated that his mother did that. He always felt better when she typically didn’t find anything. </p><p><em>“They’re dead. We’re alive. It’s as simple as that,”</em> she would tell him each time. </p><p>He would watch how she went about it and naturally picked up on how to make it look if you were never there. Nathaniel stands up—he feels the cool breeze attack his knees where blood soaked into his jeans—and walks over to the dumpster where he grabs some old rags. He walks back over to the dead body. </p><p>“What the hell is he doing!”</p><p>Nathaniel wraps three of the rags around his hands—two around his injured hand to hopefully prevent any blood from seeping through—and pats around the guy’s outer thighs. He feels the rectangular shape he was looking for and sticks his rag covered hand in the pocket, carefully pulling the phone out. When he goes to unlock the phone, he curses. It’s password protected. A message pops up on the screen:</p><p>
  <em>Face Not Recognized</em>
</p><p>The redhead swallows and then shifts forward, leaning over the newly dead body and reaching out to grab his hair. His hand is unsteady and coated in blood underneath the rag—only some of it belonging to him. With his other hand, he manages to hold the phone up in front of the guy's face. </p><p>Nathaniel’s seen corpses before—all different kinds—but he’ll always experience that cold chill that washes through his body whenever he sees someone’s lifeless eyes staring at nothing. His gaze is stuck on the dead man’s face as he stares up at the sky. He only turns away when the phone vibrates, signalizing that the Face ID worked. </p><p>Nathaniel knows who he has to call, but he doesn’t have his number. So, he calls the next best one—the only person’s number he has memorized. It’s the only option he has. He picks up the man’s hand, thankful that he can’t feel his skin through the rags, and presses the digits. He hits the call button and drops the hand, bringing the phone close to his ear. </p><p>“Did you fucking see what he just did, Andrew!? I don’t want him around us!”</p><p>It rings and rings and rings. Nathaniel knows it’s late, but <em>come on pick up the fucking phone</em>. He hears a click. </p><p>“Tetsuji Moriyama,” The Master’s voice greets him. Nathaniel nearly shrivels away from it after not hearing it for nearly two weeks. </p><p>“It’s me,” Nathaniel croaks softly, not wanting Aaron or Andrew to overhear who he’s talking to because <em>that</em> would look really good. </p><p>There’s silence on the other side of the line. “…Nathaniel,” The Master finally speaks, his voice measured. “You’ve caused us a lot of problems. If you know what’s good for you, you will return to Edgar Allen at once.”</p><p>“I can’t,” Nathaniel says, preparing himself for The Master’s reaction. But he takes a mental step back from this moment and the fear that’s been beaten into him when he goes against the Master. He didn’t call to speak with the Master. There are larger matters at hand. </p><p>“It’ll do you good to—!”</p><p>“I need to speak to Ichirou.”</p><p>The other side of the line is quiet once again. Nathaniel presses his luck by adding on a “Now.”</p><p>Nathaniel waits. He hears Aaron shouting from off to the side: “He’s underage! He won’t get in that much trouble if he’s caught. Let’s go!”</p><p>The Master huffs on the other side of the line and then Nathaniel hears ringing again. He holds his breath and counts the ridges in the asphalt in front of him. </p><p>“Who is this?”</p><p>Nathaniel’s breath now gets caught in his throat. He looks over at Aaron and Andrew. “Nathaniel.”</p><p>Like The Master, Ichirou seems surprised to hear from him, as well. “Why are you calling me?”</p><p>“I need your help.” He forces himself to not look back at the body as the words spill out of his mouth. “West Columbia High School in the back parking lot. It’s…I need you to take care of it.”</p><p>Nathaniel realizes Ichirou could’ve had a hand in this play of events, but he thinks it’s unlikely. And even if the Moriyama heir was involved, this is all part of his game. He wouldn’t be ready to sacrifice his pawn yet. </p><p>And sure enough, after a few moments of silence, Ichirou says, “You know this won’t come without a price.”</p><p>Nathaniel squeezes his eyes shut. “Yes.”</p><p>“I’ll take care of it. I do not want to be receiving another call like this from you again, Nathaniel.”</p><p>And with that, the call is disconnected. </p><p>Nathaniel pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it. He shoves it back in the guy’s pocket and stands up. He stares at the scene in front of his feet before turning back to Aaron and Andrew. The former is practically seething at the mouth. </p><p>“You’re a psychopath!” Aaron snarls at him. “You killed him!”</p><p>“Yeah,” Nathaniel admits, his mouth numb but voice even as he stares at the twins. </p><p>Andrew frowns and looks at the corpse in front of Nathaniel. “We’re leaving.”</p><p>“We’re not taking <em>him</em> back with us, are we?”</p><p>“It’s taken care of,” Nathaniel says firmly—like that makes the situation any different. </p><p>Andrew starts walking and snags Nathaniel’s sleeve, dragging him along. </p><p>“Andrew! He’ll bring the police right to our door! Think about how that will look, especially for <em>you</em>.”</p><p>They arrive back at the car quickly. Aaron takes the passenger seat and Nathaniel climbs in the back.</p><p>“Take your shoes off,” Andrew says. “Hand them to me. Don’t get blood in the car.”</p><p>Nathaniel does as Andrew says and hands his shoes over to the blond who hands him a sweater in return. Nathaniel immediately wraps it around his hand. At that moment, he doesn’t think about whose sweater it is. </p><p>“They called me Andrew,” Nathaniel hears Aaron say through the foam in his ears. “And they asked about Kevin and Nathaniel.”</p><p>The drive back to the house is quiet—or maybe it’s only quiet because Nathaniel doesn’t pay attention to anything. He’s too preoccupied with what’s going on inside his own head. He contacted Ichirou. The Moriyama heir had said he would take care of it but was he being truthful? Nathaniel doesn’t trust them just like the Moriyamas don’t trust him, but they both have a sort of agreement with one another. Still, could Ichirou get the matter taken care of before the local police department find out about the crime? Some kids could come across the body tomorrow. And those other two, they were still alive, just knocked out. They would wake up soon. Maybe they’re already awake and calling the police. Oh God, his fingerprints have to be everywhere. They’ll find something and lead it back to him and the rest of the Foxes by association. He won’t be able to complete Ichirou’s task if he’s in jail. He won’t be able to play Exy if he’s a murderer. </p><p>Ichirou has to cover this up. He <em>has</em> to…right? Unless…he views Nathaniel as expendable. The redhead has spent years trying to prove he’s anything but. He’s useful. That’s how one survives in this life. He remembers that. </p><p>And The Master…Nathaniel can safely assume he had nothing to do with this little stunt. It was sloppy and screamed <em>Riko</em>. Nathaniel can only imagine the fit the Ravens’ striker is going to have when he finds out that his plan failed. </p><p>“Nathaniel.”</p><p>Andrew’s even voice cuts through the haze in his mind. Nathaniel looks up and finds Andrew standing in front of the open car door. They must be back at the house. He slowly gets out of the car, careful not to smear any blood anywhere, and Andrew backs up to give him space.</p><p>“Shower?” Nathaniel says. </p><p>“Upstairs. Second door on the right. There’s a first aid kit under the sink.”</p><p>The walk into the house and upstairs is a blur. When Nathaniel steps into the bathroom, he immediately places his injured hand under cold water in the sink. He hisses and hunches over as the water makes contact with the open wound. After a few steady exhales, he squirts the hand soap onto the cuts using his other hand. He scrubs as firmly as he can without further injuring himself, hoping that no infection will set in. Still holding his hand under the sink, he squats down to sift in the cabinet under the sink. Andrew had said there’s a first aid kit in here. When Nathaniel spots it, he pulls that out and drops it haphazardly on the counter. He rips it open and searches through the items inside, nearly sighing in relief when he finds a suture kit. It looks like he’ll need more than just bandages. </p><p>When his hands are as clean as he can make them, he collapses onto the toilet seat next to the sink. He usually always drinks some alcohol before stitching himself up, but he doesn’t want to wander out of the bathroom to find any downstairs. He settles for just pouring some of the hydrogen peroxide he found under the sink onto his wound directly. He hisses again when it bubbles up. After doing that a few more times and flushing the wound, he washes it again with water and soap and antiseptic, sprays some saline spray around it, and tries to reduce the amount of bleeding. He then presses the needle against his skin, takes his ruined shirt collar in between his teeth, and begins stitching. </p><p>He wills his hand to stay still and he pushes the needle through his skin. The sink is still running—he left it on intentionally to cover the sound of his groans. As soon as he finishes stitching up the wound and ties the thread, he sags against the toilet, finally letting the tremors rake through his body. After allowing himself a few moments of rest, he climbs up and turns on the shower with his unharmed hand. He spotted a plastic bag under the sink earlier that he plans to use over his wound to keep it dry, but realizes he doesn’t have anything to create a vacuum seal. Despite not wanting to leave the bathroom to get something, he finds himself opening up the door. Nathaniel stumbles back when he sees Andrew standing in front of the doorway. The blond’s eyes almost immediately find Nathaniel’s newly stitched up hand. The redhead moves it behind his back. </p><p>“Do you have any duct tape?”</p><p>Andrew drags his gaze back up until he’s looking straight at him. He nods.</p><p>“And a trash bag?”</p><p>That would probably be better than a thin supermarket plastic back. </p><p>Andrew disappears and returns a minute later with both items, along with a stack of clothes. </p><p>“Thanks,” Nathaniel says. He pauses before shutting the door. “Where’s Aaron.”</p><p>“Downstairs. He’s pissed you got first dibs on the shower.”</p><p>“Oh,” Nathaniel says. “I’ll be quick.”</p><p>As soon as the redhead shuts the door, he secures the trash bag around his hand and seals it shut with several layers of duct tape. Even though it’s pretty secure, he still tries to keep it away from water when he’s in the shower. Nathaniel wants a <em>long</em> shower. He wants to wash as much of himself away as he can. He doesn’t even have that much blood on him, but the water seems to be red for the entirety of the shower. It keeps going and going and the hot water feels so nice against his sore muscles. He wonders if he stands in scalding tempers for long enough if it’ll wear his skin own to his bones. He almost wants to test that theory, but reminds himself he said he would be quick. So, when he feels adequately cleaned, he steps out and changes into the new clothes Andrew gave him. They don’t swamp his figure. These items are probably the closest to his actual size. The pants are a bit too short and the t-shirt is a bit too loose, especially around the shoulders, but it’s close and comfortable. And tonight, he’s grateful for that. </p><p>Nathaniel packs the first aid kit back up and places it back under the sink. He wraps his stitched-up wound with some gauze and tape before stuffing everything he used into the trash bag. He shoves in his clothes from the club too, along with the ruined sweater he used in the car. The club top is probably salvageable, but he has no desire to wear something like that again.</p><p> His descent downstairs is slow, but he purposely makes some noise so Andrew and Aaron know he’s coming. Aaron glares at him as soon as he appears at the bottom of the stairs. Andrew and Aaron aren’t the only ones downstairs, though. Kevin and Nicky are hovering about the room. </p><p>Of course. How could he forget about them? </p><p>Nicky looks frazzled, while Kevin looks three shades too light. They’re staring at Nathaniel as if he’s currently bleeding out all over their cherry stained hardwood. He glances down at himself and confirms that, yes, he is spick and span with not a spec of blood on him. </p><p>“Why don’t you do us all a favor and fucking leave. For real this time,” Aaron hisses quietly so that only Nathaniel can hear. He shoves past the redhead on his way up the stairs, likely heading for the bathroom. </p><p>Nathaniel takes the shove and just rests back against the wall. </p><p>“Nathaniel,” Nicky starts. </p><p>“No. I said not tonight,” Andrew says firmly. Nicky deflates at that, but luckily he doesn’t push. He gives Nathaniel a wobbly smile as he passes by him to head back upstairs. </p><p>“I’m glad you guys are all back and safe.” Nathaniel doesn’t miss the way his eyes glance down to look at his bandaged hand. </p><p>Kevin follows closely behind Nicky. Though, he stops next to Nathaniel while Nicky continues up the steps. </p><p>“How is it?” </p><p>Nathaniel swallows, too exhausted to be irritated with Kevin’s same-ole bullshit. “It’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with worse. I can still play.”</p><p>“That’s not—,” Kevin says quickly. He pulls back, and Nathaniel notices that he pulls his own hand up—his left hand. It’s just a slight movement, but Nathaniel notices, and some of the tension eases. Oh. <em>Oh</em>. He was actually <em>not</em> being an asshole. “I was just trying to say I know what—nevermind.”</p><p>When Kevin disappears upstairs, Andrew is still just staring at him. Again, if Nathaniel had more energy, he would probably be angry because all Andrew seems to do is fucking stare at him with that stupidly blank expression on his face that Nathaniel can’t read. And when he’s not devoid of emotion, he’s high on his drugs. Both alternatives are equally as irritating in their own ways. </p><p>Wordlessly, Andrew turns around and heads out the front door. Nathaniel stays against the wall, trash bag still held in his hand, before following Andrew outside. The blond is leaning against the front railing, already having sifted out a cigarette. He lights it as Nathaniel sits down on one of the porch steps. </p><p>He doesn’t quite know the time, but he’s guessing it’s someone around two in the morning. The neighborhood is eerily quiet. It’s too late for any dogs or people to be up. Too early for that too. The silence is unnerving. He hates it. </p><p>So, he asks, “Can I have a cigarette?” </p><p>Andrew eyes him, something strange glinting in his hazel eyes. They appear golden under the porch light, Nathaniel realizes. Andrew wordless pulls out the box of cigarettes from his pocket and holds it out to the redhead. Nathaniel’s uninjured fingers grasp one of the sticks and he places it between his lips. Andrew brings his thumb down against the wheel of the lighter and brings the flame to the butt of Nathaniel’s cigarette. The redhead takes a deep drag, nearly sighing in relief when he feels the familiar sensation settle in his lungs. It mutes everything. </p><p>“Thanks,” Nathaniel huffs, and then he waits. </p><p>Today was a shit show—even by Nathaniel’s standards. Andrew already didn’t trust him, and then Nathaniel got his brother kidnapped and killed someone. Nathaniel made the call to Ichirou, but still…there was no guarantee that everything would be smoothed over in the eyes of the law and the public. And even if it was, the twins saw everything. Letting Nathaniel stay would be dangerous and stupid—Andrew was surely thinking that before and he most certainly is now. </p><p>Nathaniel’s trying to think of what to do next. Ichirou made his intentions clear. Once Andrew told him to leave, and Nathaniel would listen because he…couldn’t stay, he would have to convince Ichirou he could figure out another way to get a hold of Kevin’s inheritance without being present in Palmetto. Nathaniel’s sure there is a way to do the latter—convincing Ichirou of that fact might be a little difficult, however, but he should be able to do it. Yeah, he—he would just have to do the Moriyama heir some more favors to offset this situation. Nathaniel could figure it out. He <em>would</em>. </p><p>“If anyone asks, you hurt your hand at Eden’s. There was a bar fight. You’re an idiot and cut yourself on a broken bottle,” Andrew says, smoke curling around his face as he speaks. </p><p>Nathaniel stares up at him in surprise. He hears what the blond is saying—<em>knows</em> what those words imply—and can’t imagine why. Why is Andrew letting him stay? It makes no sense. Surely, <em>surely</em>, there’s more. So, he continues to wait for Andrew to say something else, but no more words leave the blond’s mouth. </p><p>Nathaniel <em>should</em> be satisfied. Nathaniel <em>should</em> be glad Andrew is letting him stay because that means Nathaniel’s one step closer to getting what Ichirou wants. Yet, that’s not what’s going through his head. It all feels wrong, and for a moment, Nathaniel finds himself <em>wanting</em> to leave. He doesn’t want to do any of this. </p><p>
  <em>You’re making a mistake. This is a mistake. You’ll regret letting me stay.</em>
</p><p>He wants to tell Andrew that, but the words die in his throat.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Greetings! I know it's been a while and I'm a week late with the update but alas. This is a bit of a crazy chapter (some of yall might argue that all of my chapters are, which is fair). Definitely, some character development/relationship forming happening. Lots of drama, as always. I'm not an expert at getting away with murder or medical procedures, so please excuse any incorrect methods or whatever. </p><p>Also, the beginning of this chapter is like lowkey horny Neil, the middle is like Nest/Butcher Neil going on a kidnapping trip and killing someone, and the end is sad/emo Neil :( at least Andrew kind of cut him a break...Aaron on the other hand...</p><p>And with a lot of the chapters, there are things that happen without Nathaniel's knowledge. I'm thinking through all these things too to make sure things are relatively realistic. </p><p>Any who, I hope yall enjoyed this chapter! Thanks so much for the support. Leave a kudos or comment. I love hearing from yall! Also, feel free to check out my <a href="https://twitter.com/emptyambrosia">Twitter</a>! Thanks for reading!</p><p>- orth</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, hello. Just a short little snippet for yall before we really get into some tea. This is my debut fic &amp; appearance on AO3. I don't know how long this fic is going to be. I just really love AFTG and Raven Neil AUs - the best. Also, I didn't really fact-check anything, but I'm pretty familiar with the canon universe and plot. Anywho, feel free to comment, leave a kudos, do what you do. Please leave feedback in some form so I know if yall are liking/interested in me continuing. Thanks!</p><p>Also, I don't know if any of yall know how to get the site to use italics and bold because it completely erased on that on my fic when I posted it.</p><p>-orth</p></blockquote></div></div>
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